


The Knight Rider

by belana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-16 04:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belana/pseuds/belana
Summary: The Wall, the Twins, Winterfell — Westeros is huge, but people live even in the most remote areas. These people need food, clothes and a ton of other things. Only long-haul truckers can deliver them.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Рыцарь дорог](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364610) by [Mey_Chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mey_Chan/pseuds/Mey_Chan). 



A knight in black and red was dying. He was dying in pouring rain with a sword in hand, he didn’t know yet that he was seriously injured. Blood was gushing from under his helmet, damaged by a mace, onto his shiny armour, it was falling to the ground and mixing with rain.

His unwitting murderer was already engaging another opponent, who was having hard time: the spiked ball hit his shield with a loud thud, splinters sprinkled around, the opponent’s left — defensive — hand dropped listlessly.

Not far from them on the tourney field a knight in golden armour was plunged into dirt. A man of tremendous height was attacking him ferociously, not giving him a chance to get up, his heavy breathing was mixing with the noise of battle and pattle of rain.

“Yield,” he wheezed out, snapping the opponent’s shiny visor open. A pale, scared, but handsome face appeared. “Say you yield in front of everyone — here and now.”

The golden knight had an anguished expression on his face and parted parched lips with effort.

“Pancakes with ham and cheese are not available, sorry, but we have the ones with meat. Do you want it?”

Dunk teared his eyes away from the big TV screen with effort and turned his head to the owner of the new voice.

The waitress, a dark-haired girl with a thick braid, thrown over her shoulder, was waiting patiently while he was gathering his wits.

“Yes… Yes, make that double, please. And coffee.”

“What kind?”

Dunk shook his head: he was still seeing the tourney in pouring rain where knights fought and died.

“No-o-o-o!”

The golden price was kneeling and admitting defeat from hands of a hedge knight. Other knights lowered their swords with prince’s last words, the black-and-red knight fell face first into the dirt, probably unconscious.

“Strong, double, with milk?”

Dunk looked at the waitress guiltily. She was probably thinking,  _ What a jerk, he just doesn’t care that I’m standing here _ .

“I’m sorry, I just… The movie is so fascinating. I’ll have strong double coffee, no milk or sugar. Please.”

The girl smiled. She was tall, cute and black-eyed. Dunk liked her very much. This was the third time he travelled the Kingsroad, and each time he stopped at this cafe.

He knew her name was Tanselle and guessed that she came here from Dorne, where troubles were brewing again. He could continue the conversation about the movie, invite her for a walk the next time they’d meet.

Dunk sighed again and returned to watching the movie. Tanselle probably had a boyfriend here, and she wouldn’t appreciate advances of a lanky long-haul trucker whom she sees once a month at best. The movie was ending: the knight who defeated the golden prince and caused the death of the king’s brother was riding off into the sunset. The close-up of his face (a pensive expression and a square jaw) was followed by credits.

Dunk turned away from the TV screen with a sigh. Filmmakers did everything in their power to hint that this episode was only the beginning of the hedge knight’s road to glory. If it happened in real life, though, the impertinent lowlife who spilt the blood of a royal would have had his throat cut by friends of the royal family in the nearest town he dared to show his face in.

The sun was rising. Dunk yawned. If he weren’t in a hurry he would have napped in a motel. He’s been driving all night and had another day of driving ahead of him.

Strangely enough there were other visitors in the cafe at this ungodly hour. Three tables away a lad a little older then Dunk was sleeping, half-laying on the table. Despite the distance Dunk could smell the whiff of stale alcohol quite well. The lad’s face, even skewed by contact with the table, seemed somehow familiar, but Dunk didn’t even want to dwell on it. He’s seen too many drunkards sleeping on tables in his life.

A little further away a teenage boy, whose face was almost completely covered by a baseball cap, was absorbed in his smartphone.

No one here looked like his parents, but a kid couldn’t just end in a cheap roadside cafe this early in the morning, could he? His parents must work here, he’s just waiting for mother or father to end their shift. Tanselle is looking after him.

There were news on the TV now: the World Grand Prix in circuit races started, another round of the Senate elections were coming up, another terrorist attack happened in Dorne. Dunk sighed and turned away just in time to catch Tanselle’s eye who was putting his order on his table.

“Double pancakes and coffee,” she smiled. “You must have a long road ahead of you.”

Dunk coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment.

_ Calm down, man. She’s just bored in this basically empty cafe and amuses herself by talking to an out-of-town trucker _ .

“If I could stuff myself to last till the Wall I’d have ordered ten of these pancakes.”

“Oh wow,” Tanselle raised her dark eyebrows. “It’s so far away. Take some pancakes with you. I’ve never been that far north and I’ve never seen the Wall — only on photos and TV.”

Dunk inhaled deeply and asked, “Do you want a souvenir from the North?”

The heavens didn’t fall on earth, Tanselle didn’t walk away laughing at his attempts at flirting. Instead she raised her eyebrows again and repeated, “A souvenir from the North? I don’t even know what souvenirs they have there.”

Dunk opened his mouth to tell her about figurines he saw there (descendants of Wildlings make them), souvenir daggers of Valyrian steel or even real swords like the ones watchmen used, or liquor made of Northern herbs. A girls probably won’t like these things.

“Obsidian jewellry.”

Dunk and Tanselle turned around at the same time.

The voice was coming from the corner and belonged to the kid in a baseball cap. He didn’t even look away from his smartphone.

“Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings,” he continued without batting an eyelid. Judging by his voice he was ten, but his manner suggested he was about fifteen. “They are mostly inexpensive and presentable. At least they look more expensive than they actually are.”

He fell silent and continued poking his smartphone while Dunk stared at Tanselle in confusion. His face was burning. She only smiled though.

“Sounds nice. Obsidian earrings will do for a tip.”

* * *

The sun was already high when Dunk left the cafe and walked to his truck. He hadn’t lost much time, but he had to hurry. He was standing not far from the truck, imagining the road ahead. GPS was fine, but Dunk liked the ritual of imagining the road and noting places where trouble might happen.

The road was going to be really long, Dunk had only the vaguest idea how to drive after a sleepless night. He had acquaintances who formed a crew and drove the truck in turns. In the beginning Dunk himself used to be a companion for Ser Arlan Pennytree.

After the old man’s death he started driving alone — the pay was higher. Dunk hoped that sooner or later he’d save enough money to quit this job and fulfill his dream. At least part of it.

Right now he needed a companion, though, to distract him from the monotony of the road.

“Can you give me a lift to the Wall?”

Dunk, who just opened the cabin door, turned around. That boy was standing behind him and staring at him with huge dark eyes. He was twirling his cap in his hands, his shaven head was glistening in the sun.

“I’ll pay, just tell me how much.” 

Dunk frowned.

“Where are your parents?”

“What does it matter,” the boy replied annoyed. “They’re far away from here. Just give me a lift to the Wall, that’s all. You’re heading there anyway so you can earn some money. It’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s not all. No, it’s not a good thing. Your mother is probably worried sick right now, she’s calling all the hospitals and morgues around.”

Something flickered in the boy’s face for a moment and disappeared.

“I don’t have a mother,” he replied evenly. “Don’t worry about that.”

Dunk looked the boy over: he was thin, but not underfed; he wore cheap, but new clothes; although his phone was worth Dunk’s monthly pay. Was it stolen?

“I think police is in the better position to help you,” he said.

“Do you want to get into trouble?” the boy asked, tilting his head.

“Are you saying that if I go to police I’ll be in trouble?” Dunk smiled. The threatening expression on the boy’s face was hilarious.

“Of course. I’ll tell them you offered me a candy and invited me to your cabin, and all that.”

Dunk’s smile faded. The boy smirked at his dazed expression.

“Then,” Dunk uttered as soon as he was able, “get out of here before I box your ears… and all that.”

The boy scowled, but rummaged through his pocket and showed Dunk crumpled bills.

“I have the money, see? You’re going north, aren’t you?” Dunk shook his head so he added in desperation, “I have a cousin there, I have to go to him. You won’t have to pay for my food, I’ll be quiet, I promise! I’ve asked two drivers before you, they both said the same: I should go to police if I got lost. But I’m not lost. I just have to go to the Wall.”

He calmly met Dunk’s hard stare, determinately (and hilariously) pushed out his lower lip and clenched his fists.

“Please,” he added barely above whisper, and that did it. This kid with shaven head and protruding ears, dressed in clothes a size too big, reminded Dunk of himself. Who knows, maybe he roams from one place to another, hides from a drunkard father, who beats him; steals, shoplifts — only because he never knew better.

Dunk was one little monster at his age. When his father ended up in jail again he didn’t want to return to the orphanage so much that he hid from social workers at friends’ places, in the subway and railway stations. He stole, fought with other homeless; all the cops around were sure that he and his pals were responsible for any trouble in the area. If ten years ago Ser Arlan, who found a frantic walking corpse near his truck, called the police instead of inviting him for a cup of tea Dunk would have ended up in a jail cell now. Or he would have reached legal age and died after a court-ordered lethal injection.

Maybe police can’t help the kid. Maybe he’s used to the idea that no one cared about his troubles.

And Dunk needed a companion for this trip.

“Alright,” he said reluctantly, and the boy’s face lit with joy. “I won’t take your money, but I won’t buy you food. Since you have some buy it yourself.”

The boy smiled from ear to ear.

“No problem!”

_ No problem, _ Dunk thought.  _ As if _ .

Intuition never let him down, it didn't this time too. That morning Dunk didn't know yet, though, what awaited him on the way north.


	2. Chapter 2

The boy was actually quiet. At first he was sitting staring into his phone, when it beeped because of low battery he politely asked Dunk permission to use his charger.

So they travelled in silence for about an hour and a half, then Dunk felt his eyes closing.

Yawning, he turned on a special pep-up music collection consisting of a heavy metal and electronic beat mix.

The boy wrinkled his nose, but said nothing. Five minutes later he gave up, though.

"Can you turn it down?"

"No."

"Can you put on something else?"

"No."

The boy sniffed.

"But it sucks."

Dunk looked at him sideways: he crossed his hands over his chest and seemed to be peevish. It was difficult to imagine him abused or scared. If he were in his father's shoes (if the boy had one) Dunk would have belted him a couple of times. Or at least once.

"You promised me that you'd be quiet," he said. "But I promised no such thing, so I'll entertain you with music and organize other comforts. Are we clear?"

The boy didn't answer, but grew even gloomier.

Two more hours passed, and the boy started fidgeting.

"I need to use a bathroom," he announced.

Dunk nodded under his feet.

"There."

"There what?"

"A plastic bottle. I won't stop on a highway so you could pee."

The boy looked at him sideways, raised his eyebrows and dove down. He found a half-a-liter bottle and examined it with a disgusted expression on his face. Then suddenly he threw it into the open window.

Dunk gasped and looked into the rearview mirror. Fortunately, there was no one behind them, and the bottle probably hit the road and bounced off into the bushes.

He turned to the boy angry as all hell.

"Are you mad? What if it hit someone's front window? Do you want to cause an accident because you're bored?"

The music was loud, but Dunk's voice topped it.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

The boy shrank.

"I wasn't thinking, I didn't want anything to happen," he mumbled wretched. "I didn't hit any car, did I?"

His alarm and remorse were so obvious that Dunk immediately cooled down.

"You didn't, it's fine," he said, and despite everything his voice was soothing. "But let's make a deal: another stunt like that, and I'll drop you off at the nearest police post. Otherwise police will stop us sooner or later."

The boy nodded readily, while Dunk thought that he jumped to conclusions again: he didn't look like a kid from a troubled home, hungry and beaten by his father. Maybe he's so difficult, though, that no beating could change that.

"By the way, what's your name?" he asked. "I'm Duncan."

"Just Duncan?" His usual manners returned. "I'm… Egg."

"Just Egg?"

The boy smirked.

"Yes, just Duncan."

He put his cap back on, Dunk wanted to knock it off with a cuff around his ear.

"But it doesn't mean that you can be impolite."

"Alright."

"Alright, _ser_."

"Whatever, ser."

In another thirty minutes his stomach rumbled so loudly that it was heard even over the loud music. By that time even Dunk grew tired of it.

He tuned the radio and opened the glove compartment.

"I have a chocolate bar and pancakes here from the cafe. The nearest gas station is not far, but if you're hungry…"

"I am not," the boy bit out, not looking at him. "I told you I don't need you to buy me food."

While the tank was refilled at the station Egg disappeared into the bathroom, then into the shop. Dunk waited for him by the truck, drinking coffee from a paper cup. He felt relatively fine after a sleepless night, but the feeling was an illusion. The feeling that he shouldn't follow Egg's lead was much stronger, though. On the other hand, maybe he's forgotten what it was like to travel with a companion.

After finishing the coffee he decided to buy another one and got into the truck to get his wallet. Egg's smartphone was lying on the passenger seat, its chrome sides shining.

Dunk stared at it, biting his lip in thought.

The phone could be stolen, but it also could be a present from a rich relative. If he asked the boy flat out it could offend him, even though the first guess was more realistic than the second one.

If he checked the phone now he could learn more about Egg than he volunteered. This information could save a lot of trouble in the future.

Dunk sighed and closed the door. It seemed like he made a wrong choice again, but that was the man he was. Ser Arlan would have cuffed him around the ear if he learned about this. And if he were still alive.

Egg returned with a handful of chocolate bars and a bottle of soda, climbed into the cabin — and froze staring at the smartphone he'd forgotten.

"Don't leave stuff like that in the truck," Dunk said. "Anyone can sneak into the cabin and steal it while the driver is away. And if you take it with you don't flash it around. Not all gas stations are equipped with cameras, people who'd want a cool phone could be waiting for you in any dark corner."

Egg stared at him as if he were contemplating if Dunk checked his phone or not. Finally he climbed into the passenger seat, put the snacks into the glove compartment and stuck the smartphone into his pocket.

When Dunk decided that he'd thank him for advice Egg asked, "Did you lose your phones like that?"

Of course, what did he expect from such a cheeky and sharp kid.

"Yes, the first one," Dunk explained patiently. "A friend of mine was attacked because of an expensive phone. He bought it after his first big paycheck, I have no idea why — the only people to impress around here are waitresses in roadside cafes. He was robbed at the first stop. He got a concussion because he wanted to use it longer."

Egg raised a pale brow, it was a strangely adult gesture.

"Where did it happen? Somewhere around Pike or in the North?"

"It happened near the King's Landing," Dunk replied darkly. Egg didn't ask any more questions. He put the smartphone away and didn't take it out till they stopped for the night.

He stared out of the window without saying a word while the day turned into the evening. They passed villages and towns with glowing lights and flashing signs. In the evening Dunk got his second breath so he switched to calmer music. Sometimes Egg asked about towns they were passing by, Dunk answered if he knew anything about them. More often than not he didn't know anything or could share only the adventures he or other truckers had there. The more Egg asked the more frustrated Dunk became. He's travelled through the whole Westeros from the Storm's End to the Wall several times, but he never paid attention to the world outside of his truck. He was too absorbed with what was to come.

"What a funny motel," Egg noted when they passed by a kitschy sign _En Route_ fixed on a rather elegant white-washed building with carved framings of windows and doors.

"What's funny about it?" Dunk, who always liked this building, asked.

"It's a copy of an hotel in Meereen, but that building is three times bigger, and it was made completely out of marble. It has stained glass windows, they are very old and very beautiful. There are only stickers on glass here."

He was talking with such competence that Dunk's mouth fell open. They've passed the motel long ago, but in Dunk's eyes it became pale, dull and ugly.

"Have you been to Meereen?" was the only thing he could ask. Egg was very much surprised by the question.

"Of course, haven't you ever travelled to Essos for vacation?.." He stopped short when he saw Dunk's face and shrank under his gaze.

"No, I've never been there," Dunk answered slowly. "I don't earn enough to travel that far. It must be a beautiful place."

What made him think the kid was from a poor family? He never said anything of that sort, Dunk himself invented a tear-jerking story of a poor kid with no place to go. And he didn't ask a single question.

"Wouldn't it be faster to travel to the North by plane?" he asked, remembering the amount of money Egg offered him, it was a quite substantial sum. The boy could afford a plane ticket. "Do you have an ID?" he asked sharply.

Egg flinched as if he were punched and bristled up.

"I won't show it to you," he snapped. " You don't have the right."

Dunk sighed and half-closed his eyes. Ideas were bouncing around in his head.

"First, I'm ser to you," he said. "Second, how were you planning to travel half across the country without any sort of ID? This journey will end at the first police post that flags us down."

Fighting spirit in Egg's eyes died down.

"Don't worry… ser, I have everything with me. But I won't show it to you… ser. If police stops us…"

"If we're lucky we won't have to show anything to anyone," Dunk replied. He never thinks about such things beforehand. Old Arlan was right when he called him a fool.

The boy must be dreaming of good living, and it's the first time he has so much cash on him. Let him dream a little longer.

They were close to the Twins, but Dunk's eyes were closing without him registering it. He didn't turn the music on, taking pity on Egg. And he doubted it'd help much.

They stopped at a roadside inn — two storeys covered by faded yellow plastic.

Egg wrinkled his nose upon seeing it, Dunk couldn't suppress a smile.

"I bet you'd give an arm to be in that copy of Meereen hotel right now, wouldn't you?"

"Right now I'd gladly rent a room in the original Meereen hotel — with a pool, three meals a day served to the room and all," Egg replied glumly. "I'll bet there are cockroaches, fleas and rats here. If I win I'll choose the music tomorrow. I'm sure you're about to tell there are none of these here, but then they'll just jump at us at the entrance. Let's make that bet, it's a sure thing."

"The middle ages came to an end a while ago," Dunk replied disgruntled. "Of course I won't bet anything. If I trusted you a bit more I'd have left you in the cabin."

They went up the steps of the inn, and Dunk caught himself thinking, _It's a good thing I'm not alone now, otherwise I'd have fallen asleep right here or in the cabin, and I'd have regretted it in the morning_.

Egg smirked, the expression looked amusing on his childlike face.

"Are you afraid that I'd steal your truck?"

"I'm afraid that you'd plunge into a tree or something less than ten feet away from this spot," Dunk replied, yawning. "Driving a truck is a special skill, you can't drive it like a car."

This skill came easy to him, but then again he was mad about trucks since childhood even if it cost him some. That memorable meeting with Ser Arlan when Dunk tried to hijack his truck with all the load could have ended differently if the old man were like other people whose cars Dunk tried to steal.

A man with thick grey moustache and amazingly kind eyes for such a place greeted them at the reception.

"Good evening. Do you want a room?"

"Good evening... Yes, a double."

Egg stared at him furiously.

"I can pay for a separate room," he said angrily.

"Save the money till the end of the trip," Dunk waved him away. If the kid was spending someone else's money then he'd better have more of it when police'd find him.

Egg made a sour face and rummaged through his pockets in reply.

"Two singles, please," Dunk said hastily.

The old man smiled into his moustache.

"Young men have no respect for elders these days. Who is he to you?"

"A son," Egg replied quickly before Dunk could say a word.

The old man laughed.

"When did you manage such a feat? Or do young men have children at the tender age of ten these days?"

Dunk gritted his teeth, cuffed Egg around the ear and, ignoring his dumbfounded and hurt expression, said, "He's my nephew, my brother's son, I'm taking him to relatives. He asked me to take him with me, so now we're travelling together through all Westeros. Here's the money for two single rooms for one night."

The old man nodded and gave him keys to the rooms.

"My name is Ser Eustace. If you need anything I'm right here."


	3. Chapter 3

His room was not as terrible as Egg predicted, but not as nice as Dunk hoped: there wasn't a table or a chair, but the only thing he needed right now, a bed, was available. Dunk forced himself to take a shower — there wasn't any hot water, but he was so terribly sleepy so he splashed cold water on himself. He dragged himself to bed and fell asleep as soon as his head touch the pillow with suspicious stains.

Dunk had a weird dream that night. He saw Westeros again, the long Kingsroad — not from truck's cabin, but from a great height. It seemed he was flying at terrible speed, two huge wings were rising and falling on both sides — he saw them out of the corner of his eyes.

Those were not his wings, he remained human, he felt sleek scaly surface under his hands, but never stopped to think what creature was carrying him. The main thing was they were travelling faster than wind. Miles were passing in seconds underneath him, and now he saw the Wall, the huge slab of ice that looked enormous even from the distance.

Dunk opened his eyes, still seeing that amazing flight, and blinked. Something woke him, teared him away from such a thrilling dream.

The rooms were on the first floor, the ground floor was occupied by reception and a small cafe. Angry voices were coming from the ground floor.

One of them definitely belonged to Egg.

Which meant he got himself into trouble before Dunk woke up.

Dunk dressed hastily and ran downstairs, praying to all gods that Egg wasn't caught stealing.

At least those fears came to nothing. The kid and the old man were sitting at a table in the cafe, shouting at each other.

"How can you say that, it's a crime!" Egg was indignant. Dunk was curious what this kid with a bundle of someone else's bills in his pocket considered to be a crime.

"Crime is what's happening now! They've reduced this country to poverty with their politics, now we're reaping what they've sawn!" Ser Eustace argued hotly. He got so carried away that he didn't notice Dunk right away. When he heard footsteps and turned around he stood up red-faced because of anger and embarrassment at being caught arguing with a child.

"Breakfast is ten stags," he said, his voice quivering with rage.

"What did he do?" Dunk asked.

"Hey, why is it I who'd done something?!" Egg cried out.

Old Eustace went to reception area without a word. There he sat down, stroked his moustache, calming down, and finally said, "I see you have one law-abiding… nephew, boy."

"What happened?" Dunk ignored a pause in his words. "Was Egg rude to you?"

"It's all his fault!" the kid shouted. "He says the the Dornish should blow up the Red Keep!"

Dunk's eyebrows went up. Old Eustace seemed to be a good-natured man, it was unreal to imagine him approving of terrorism.

"Yes," he said defiantly. "But they don't have the guts for it. They can only kill ordinary people, but they can't get to those who created all this trouble, people who stand behind Dorne's current situation." He gestured accusingly at the TV screen where black smoke over residential area was billowing live. "There, they can't get people because of whom there are explosions on the streets and the subway! If Blackfyre were alive none of this would have happened!"

Dunk was bewildered for a moment. When he was a baby a  _ coup d'etat _ almost happened in Westeros after elections in which Daeron Targaryen and Daemon Blackfyre participated. He knew about those events from adults and history books. Both candidates had similar share of supporters, but exit polls showed that Blackfyre was winning. His staff was celebrating victory when the results came: Targaryen won.

Ser Arlan said there were brawls between supporters of both candidates in the capital and other cities; shops and cars were vandalized. Then Blackfyre appealed to his supporters to go to the streets and help to bring justice — to overthrow Targaryen who faked the election results.

The King's Landing drowned in blood that night. It later became known as the Crimson Night.

"Tell me," Ser Eustace said to Egg, forgetting again that he was arguing with a child, "who ordered troops to enter the capital twenty years ago? Who gave the order to shoot at civilians?"

Egg stared at him, so Dunk answered barely above whisper.

"It was Brynden Rivers."

Now Egg was staring at both of them.

The old man looked him up and down and repeated the name as if he lost all his will to argue in a second.

"Yes, it was Bloodraven. Daeron let him off the leash. While he was lying low, while Daemon was trying to right the wrong out in the streets…"

He didn't have a chance to finish. The front door opened, and a woman entered the motel. She was shortish and slim, dressed in an elegant trouser suit; her hair was fiery red and braided.

Two tall muscular men were following her at a leisurely pace, but the woman didn't seem to notice them. She approached Ser Eustace's reception, he tensed up and clenched his yellowish fists.

"Well?" the woman asked crisply. "Everything's the same, I gather?"

Ser Eustace stared at her in anger and said through gritted teeth, "I've told you customers come in high season…"

"Nothing's changed then," she smirked. She turned her head as if she just noticed Dunk and Egg. "Well, well, you’ve got guests. They seem to be leaving, though.”

“No, we’re staying another night,” Dunk replied cautiously.

The woman arched her red eyebrow.

“You two are rather brave since you decided to spend another night in this hellhole.”

Something did bite Dunk at night, and the bite itched, but there was something unpleasant in the woman’s behaviour that made him say, “This is a good motel, and I’ve seen some.”

The woman sneered again and turned to Ser Eustace.

“He’s the first guest who is defending you. And the first one I’ve seen here in a while. I’m tired of waiting, Osgrey.”

The old man’s whiskers were twitching.

“So this is what you’ve become, Rohanne,” he said barely above a whisper.

The woman winced in displeasure, looked at Dunk and Egg sideways as if she was annoyed that this conversation had witnesses and said in a low voice, “Now I’m good enough for him, aren’t I?”

“Don’t you dare,” Ser Eustace choked out. “Don’t you dare to mention his…”

Dunk took ten stags out of a pocket, put them on the table next to half-eaten breakfast, took Egg by the elbow and dragged him outside.


	4. Chapter 4

When the doors closed Egg sighed, “He’s such a trouble-maker. He’s quarelling with everyone.”

“He’s an old man,” Dunk replied, tugging his baseball cap lower on his head. “Old men are always ill-tempered.”

It was a warm and sunny day — it was just the thing Dunk needed. The scene at the motel left an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth, but it faded quickly under bright sunlight.

“So we’re not going anywhere, are we?” Egg asked. “Since we’re staying the night here.”

“No,” Dunk replied. “We have a place to be, but we’ll return in the evening. We have a whole day in the Twins. Now, get into the truck.”

“And where are we going?” Egg was curious. “The Twins, I get it, but what will we do there?”

“I’ll be doing,” Dunk corrected. “I’ll participate in competition, and you’ll… cheer for me. I need someone to be on my side.”

The trip was less than an hour long. Dunk felt refreshed and silently prayed to all gods he remembered that he didn’t mess up the dates and wasn’t late.

Egg, who at first livened up and asked question about the competition, went quiet and looked glum. The cap covered his face completely, Dunk saw only his pursed lips. It was obvious what was bothering him so much, but Dunk decided to let the matter drop. They drove in silence, only when the Twins showed on the horizon Egg finally spoke.

“He gave me food, he was so kind. He told me about his son and even asked if I needed roller skates because they became to small for his son. Then he watched the news and freaked out. And he shouted at me for no reason, I just asked him what was the government’s fault that he wanted all of them dead.”

He fell silent and chewed on his lower lip. Dunk caught himself thinking that Egg without his terribly expensive smartphone was actually a nice kid.

“Ser Eustace lives in the past,” he said. “It seems many friends of his supported the wrong president.”

“But it was twenty years ago!” the boy exclaimed heatedly.

Dunk shrugged.

“I’m telling you: he lives in the past, for him it’s like everything happened yesterday. Anyway, twenty years isn’t a hundred, people remember how everything happened. Many people died then, Egg, it’s a touchy subject for many. Don’t talk about it — not with Ser Eustace or anyone else who was affected by it. And don’t say that Targaryens did everything right. Everyone had their own truth at that time, but that doesn’t make the lives of those who lost friends or relatives any easier.”

Egg frowned. 

“But Dad says if…” he started, but caught himself. He had the same expression on his face when he saw his forgotten smartphone in the truck’s cabin.

Dunk mentally shook his head.  _ Dad _ . No one calls a lousy father Dad and uses his opinion as an argument in a debate.

“What does your Dad say?” Dunk asked casually, but Egg already gathered his wits.

“Nothing,” he said. “and you… ser… do you remember anything about the Crimson Night? What were you doing then?”

“You mean which side I supported?” Dunk clarified. Egg shrugged. The gesture looked both irritated and awkward as if to show that it wasn’t what he asked, but if Dunk was willing to answer he’d listen.

Dunk laughed. It seems all children misjudged the age of other people. He used to think that Ser Arlan was a whitebeard over a hundred years old when he actually was a little over sixty when they met.

“I was wetting the cradle,” he said after he calmed down. “I must have been a newborn then, if I was born at all, and my political views left something to be desired.”

He smiled at the kid and encountered his puzzled stare.

“What do you mean ‘must have been’? Are you saying you don’t remember your birthday?” Egg asked.

He didn’t — like any newborn who knows no concept of dates and seasons. Children start to understand the uniqueness of certain days after celebrating several birthdays.

Dunk never had birthday celebrations, he wasn’t even sure he was twenty right now. Mother could have told him, but she was gone, while father sometimes forgot his own name, not to mention his son’s birthday.

Dunk lived outside out time almost sixteen years until once upon a time Ser Arlan said that he should get a driver’s license. While filling out the papers he wrote down the first date that came to his mind — the day he first met the old man. The bottomline is Ser Arlan gave him a new life.

“No,” Dunk replied. “I have a very clear recollection of my birthday.”

*** * ***

“Is this all?” Egg asked disappointed, Dunk could understand that.

Truck competition looks like… well, it doesn’t look look like a competition. A small crowd gathered at the empty area of the promenade across from the dilapidated city hall. Judging by the number of cars and trucks spectators and participants were present in almost equal parts.

The river was flowed nearby, the castle which gave the name to the town a long while ago was towering on the other bank.

“You probably thought that this is going to be something like a Grand Prix with thousands of spectators on the stands?”

Egg snorted.

“It’s one thing I don’t want to see. There’s nothing to see: racing cars fly by so fast one has no idea who is in which position, and the distance is too great, and there are too many barriers… And if you’re sitting on the best seat in the first row the roar is deafening,” he made a face.

Dunk gently knocked the baseball cap off his head.

“What an imagination you have! It’s even worse for drivers. The temperature in the cockpit is about 120 degrees, they’re pushed into the seat like cosmonauts at launch, and they still have to watch the road at this terrible speed. If you lose concentration and crash into a barrier you probably won’t die, but you can become a cripple or get burned so even their clothes…”

Egg watched him intently, pushing his cap back, and said, “Ser, you look like you dream about it.”

Engrossed in the discussion they didn’t notice when they reached the woman who was registering the participants.

“I’m Duncan Tall,” Dunk told her. “I registered through Westernet.”

While he was filling in some papers Egg stepped away and returned a few minutes later with a couple soda bottles and a brand new white and blue baseball cap with a print of two towers, connected by a bridge, and a word  _ Frey _ .

“Do you want some soda, ser? Where are you going to race?” he asked. “I don’t see a track here.”

“What, do you think this is the Oldtown-Riverrun rally?” Dunk asked. “I’ll be racing here,” he gestured at the empty area, where orange cones were arranged in no particular pattern. “This is a competition in driving skills, there won’t be any racing cars and deafening noise. Please stand there so I could see you and don’t wander away.”

Egg trudged despondently toward the crowd of spectators. Dunk tried to chase away the sinking feeling and hurried to the truck. The kid stirred some old inner turmoil without even realizing it.

Dunk dreamed of becoming an F1 driver since the time he first saw brightly-colored race cars and drivers in bright jumpsuits. Driving a car was cool even if during the learning process he crashed two cars his friends hijacked especially for him. And driving a car at top speed, almost flying above the track, feeling the engine this close to you, — it was a miracle, a fairy-tale.

Dunk dreamed about this fairy-tale since childhood until he reached six feet at the age of fourteen.

“You won’t become an F1 driver being so tall,” Ser Arlan told him, and Dunk accepted that. His dream didn’t die, though, it transformed.

When his truck was announced he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and revved the engine. Each mile, each inch brought him closer to his goal.


	5. Chapter 5

“Wow! At first I thought this is going to be boring, but it was actually very interesting.”

“Boring, my ass. I saw you jumping and cheering,” Dunk replied, knocking the baseball cap onto his face.

Egg righted it and laughed happily, “Oh, how you maneuvered between all of those orange things and didn’t hit any of them! And then you drove backwards! I thought that judge was going to fleece you, and she would have if we didn’t boo her. You should have seen her face! So she had to award you the first place, ser. That’s why you drove all night? So you could participate in the competition? What are you going to do with the money? Twenty thousand dragons are not much, but you could fly around the whole Westeros. You wanted that, remember?”

They were close to the motel, the headlights illuminated the building itself and a dark SUV parked near the entrance. Dunk frowned. He noticed that car when they were leaving for the day, it could belong only to the redhead who visited the motel in the morning. It meant she hadn’t left yet.

“Ok, fine. If you don’t want to answer you don’t have to…” Egg grumbled.

“Wait,” Dunk replied, still staring at the well-polished SUV. “I think our old man is in trouble.”

“Since when is he our old man?” Egg muttered, but looked sufficiently worried.

Ser Eustace and the redhead were sitting across from each other in the café, the two men were sitting a little way away at separate tables and were sipping beer.

The woman flinched from the sound of the door opening and turned around to see the newcomers.

She look much less glamorous than in the morning, there were dark circles under her eyes, red hair stood on end.

“Here are your former guests, old man,” she said. He didn’t reply — he stared at papers stewed on the table in front of him.

“Why are we former guests? Are you kicking us out in the dead of the night?” Dunk asked.

If they were kicked out it wasn’t the end of the world, they could always return to the Twins. Dunk was worried about the old man, though, who apparently wasn’t seeing a thing.

The woman stood up, tucked away a stray strand of hair and approached them. She was short, the top of her head barely reached the middle of Dunk’s chest, she managed to stare him down.

“This is my motel now, you can contact me if you have any questions. I advise you to move on, though, this building will soon be demolished.”

Dunk stared at her perplexed, then looked at the old man. He suddenly slammed his fist on the table — all the papers fluttered around — and stood up straight and determined.

“How dare you to take charge of this place, Rohanne, I haven’t signed any papers yet!”

“It’s only the matter of time,” the woman replied coldly without even turning to face him. “The trial on transfer of rights on this motel will take 24 hours, the law is on my side. Failure to pay rent for a significant amount of time is enough cause to seize this junk.”

“You’re robbing me of everything I have,” said Ser Eustace in a weak voice. His will collapsed, and he sat back on the chair.

Still looking Dunk in the eye, the woman spit through gritted teeth, “You robbed yourself of everything. All you have left has been mine for a while now. You two — go to your rooms, please. This is a private conversation.”

Dunk already reached that conclusion, but as soon as he put a hand on the bannister of the staircase one one the men rose lazily and approached Ser Eustace. He showed the old man back and said just as lazily, “Enough talking. No money — no motel.”

“Don’t touch him,” Dunk said. He walked pass Rohanne and stood by Ser Eustace face to face to her man. “He’s an old and weak man, you said it yourself: the law is on your side. That means you can skip this part.”

The man gave him an amused look and looked questioningly at his boss. Rohanne nodded reluctantly, he stepped away and joined his friend and his beer.

Ser Eustace sank on the chair and said without raising his head, “She’s just taking it out on me. She’s revenging my son…”

“Old man!” she cautioned, but he continued.

“...for the fact that I couldn’t keep him safe. She’s revenging my past. Maybe I earned it.”

Lady Rohanne stomped her foot like an angry little girl.

“It’s a bad idea to tell stranger all about my life and the things that passed between us, don’t you think?”

She sighed loudly which sounded almost like a groan, rubbed her pale freckled face. She gestured for her men to leave. Clicking her heels, she approached the table where Dunk was standing close to exhausted Ser Eustace and said, looking Dunk straight in the eye, “I think today was for nothing. I’ll come back tomorrow, though, and then everything will end. You’ll sign all the papers I need and get the hell out of here.”

She was angry, tired, bitchy and tiny — maybe that’s why for a moment she seemed to be a hurt little girl to Dunk.

Then she turned sharply on her heels, left swiftly and banged the door shut. The illusion faded.

“I’ll be right back,” Dunk mumbled and ran after her.

He caught up with her by her car when she was already getting into it and grabbed the door. One of the bodyguards driving the car started to get up, but she waved him away annoyed and stared at Dunk expectantly.

“Listen,” Dunk said, “how much does he owe you? How much rent does Ser Eustace owe you?”

Her red lipped mouth hung open, she stared at him in disbelief. Then she laughed — maliciously and disdainfully.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said when she was able. She suddenly sounded vexed. “You know him for barely a day, you probably don’t have any money on you, so why are you intervene on his behalf?”

“I only asked you,” Dunk replied, trying to speak evenly and politely. “And I understand that this is private, and you can refuse to answer…”

“Of course, I won’t,” she laughed. “First, I doubt that you, a long-haul trucker, can cough up such a sum. If only you push cargo before reaching your destination. Second, the old man was right.” She jerked up her chin and said bitterly and decidedly, “He owes me not only money, he’ll never be able to pay me back. That’s none of your business, though. Stay out of it, trucker.”

He barely had time to jerk back his hand when the smoked glass rolled up, and the car drove away joined the flow on the road and disappeared.

* * *

Ser Eustace was sitting at a table with Egg just like in the morning, but now were weren’t quarrelling. Ser Eustace was talking while Egg was listening and nodding his bald head  _ sans _ his favourite baseball cap.

When Dunk entered Egg shot him a pleading glance as if he, Dunk, could do something to help the old man.

Ignoring both Dunk and distracted Egg, he continued to speak as if to himself, "...It seemed to be the right decision at that time. I still think so, Targaryens should have ceded the power to someone who had the support of the people…”

“Daeron won the election, though,” Egg objected. The old man looked at him with sad fondness as if he were his beloved, if slightly dumb, son.

“When so much power is in one person’s hands one can do anything. One can pay for votes, one can blacken the opponent, one can even falsify the results of elections. People who count the voting papers are not impartial, they want money too. And they don’t want trouble.”

He was so patient as if he were talking to a three-year-old. Egg shook his head.

“Fine, I got it. But you still don’t have any proof that the results were falsified!”

In the heat of the conversation they didn’t notice Dunk, he decided not to interrupt and watched them silently from the counter.

“Daemon’s rating before the elections was higher than Daeron’s. Many rich and influential people supported him. All of us believed he’d change everything: he’d carry out economic reforms, get rid of hangers-on from the center of power, calm Dorne down. He’d do something for which Daeron had neither courage, nor resources, nor desire. The night preliminary results were announced we felt we won. We believed that we could do anything, that the world was about to change. While the Targaryens teased us with hope just to take it away. I can understand those who tried to see justice done that night. I myself would have joined Daemon.”

Egg fell silent, he looked lost and pensive. The ideas he just heard apparently didn’t fit into his world view. He bit his lower lip like he always did when he contemplated saying something.

Dunk decided to draw attention to himself. He came closer and put a hand on Egg’s shoulder.

“You need to go to bed.”

Egg nodded, rose and then turned to Ser Eustace again.

“Daemon died of an accidental bullet, though.”

“Accidental,” the old man grumbled. “Ask Brynden Rivers about it. Rumour has it he shot Daemon himself. If he were alive he would have been a threat even from a jail cell, a reminder that the Targaryens almost lost their power. He would have been a hero, the head of the opposition, there was only one way to get rid of him. I repeat: I would have joined him. Even if it meant losing everything, I lost almost everything anyway: my business, my family, my life.” He sighed heavily. “I have only this motel to lose. Twenty five thousands dragons — where will I get them?”

Egg looked forlorn, Dunk felt not much better. Even if the old man was circumstantially guilty of the bloodbath that happened in the King’s Landing twenty years ago he paid for it and didn’t deserve the fate Rohanne shaped out for him.

“I’ll go up to my room,” Egg muttered and started for the staircase. Ser Eustace stared at Dunk expectantly.

“Do you want some tea? On the house. I don’t want to drink alone.”

They drank tea in silence, apparently, Ser Eustace spent all his strength on telling his life story. An old TV was working in the corner by the counter. The familiar knight entered the gates of a castle and knelt before a beautiful redhead. Dunk didn’t remember the girl or the episode. As ill luck would have it, the TV had problems with sound, Dunk couldn’t hear a word.

It looked like it was the continuation of the movie about the magnificent tournament, script writers did their magic again. The girl of noble birth — judging by clothes, manner and a crowd of servants — took apparent liking to the out-of-town dum and said something patronizing and affectionate. The knight blushed as if he were a maiden in love. He gathered his wits, though, and said something that made the girl slap him.

Then the plot livened up. Dunk didn’t notice Ser Eustace falling asleep on his folded hands stretched on the table.

When he was walking to the stair near the TV he saw that redhead — now completely naked — running through the woods, covered in fake fog, away from a knight, bloodied and spiked with arrows as if he were a pin cushion. Dunk thought it was all sorts of wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

He was lying sleepless in bed covered with used sheets and thought about a stubborn old man who lived in the past because he had nothing in the present. He also thought about the fact that he, Dunk, was much different and lived mostly in his dreams. And if he chooses to do what he had in mind he’d have absolutely nothing in the present too.

A door in the corridor creaked, opening. Dunk rose in bed and listened to the darkness. It answered with light, child’s steps. Where was Egg going in the dead of the night? Dunk had no idea apart from thought that the boy refused to use the bathroom in his room (it had chipped tiles and no ventilation) and decided to relieve himself outside.

He was lying in bed and listened, expecting Egg’s return. When ten minutes passed Dunk felt ill at ease. He stood up, put on his trousers, t-shirt and jacket when he looked out of the window and saw Egg.

The small figure paced around the parking lot in front of the motel where only Dunk’s truck was parked. Usually drivers this close to town, Dunk sometimes drove by this place too, but now he had very little money.

He went back to bed and closed his eyes.  _ What a restless boy, _ Dunk thought and yawned. _ I should forbid him to go outside at night… But he won’t listen. _ He reminded Dunk of himself at that age.

When Dunk woke up again (it felt like it was five minutes later) there were voices downstairs. Dunk felt a weird sense of  _ deja vu _ . He was too tired to get up so he tried to remember himself aged ten: was he so obnoxious? He must have been a little more obedient and polite to elders, otherwise Ser Arlan would have thrown him out.

When Dunk fell asleep again, hurried footsteps came from the staircase. Now Egg was stomping on the staircase again without hesitation. He was breathing heavily and even sobbed once, he was crying. But Dunk was so tired of waking up and excitement of the previous day that when Egg finally shut his door he fell asleep.

He woke up early, around 7 a.m., as if restless night never happened. He got out of the bed, took a cold shower that even refreshed him a little and shaved. When Dunk was scraping a razor down his cheek (the damned cheap shaving gel refused to foam) his hand slipped, and the razor left a long shallow cut. A dark red bead leaked down his cheek and stained the collar of his shirt. Dunk watched it and sighed. If this were a scene in a movie where the main character was about to so something good to a heroic tune this moment would have killed all the pathos.

He bandaged the nick, gathered all his stuff and knocked on Egg’s door. He stood there waiting, but no sound came from the other side. Dunk frowned, tugged the doorknob, and to his surprise the door opened easily, he saw an empty room. The bed was unmade, a jacket was hanging on the back of a chair with one sleeve touching not very clean floor, the door to the shower was open. Dunk imagined Egg entering the room — and with all his squeamishness left it running — and smiled. Then he frowned, though. What’s happening anyway, what is this child doing?

Dunk hurried to the stairs and saw Egg running up towards him. He was red in the face, his eyes were shining, his nostrils were flaring. He was breathing heavily again, and Dunk realized he was very angry.

Upon seeing Dunk Egg stopped, then ran to him and shoved something into his hand. Dunk looked down and saw a dragon on one of the bank bills which formed a rather huge bundle.

“Egg, what’s going on?” he murmured, turning cold. “Did you rob him? Did you rob the old man of the last thing he owns?”

“Yeah,” Egg replied in a huff. “And I just gave the money to you so you’d leave your fingerprints for the police to find.”

Dunk stared at the money again.

“Then do tell where…”

“It’s my money, all of it,” Egg snapped. “Believe it or not. I never said that I was poor, that I had no money. My father is very rich, this is my pocket money — in a way.”

Dunk felt like he was in a dream, although now he wasn’t flying a dragon into the unknown, but the world was tumbling into hell.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“So you could give it to that… Ser Eustace,” Egg said through gritted teeth. “He won’t take it from me.”

Dunk stared at the money in his hand again.

“I give you my word it’s all mine.” Egg said. “It’s fifteen thousands, but he can ask for a grace period. I’ll be able to get more money later. Don’t look at me like that! My brother spends as much in a night at a club, I want to spend this sum on something worthwhile!”

Dunk was perplexed. Rich kids don’t sit in roadside cafés, don’t wear cheap sportswear and don’t help poor old men in need. And poor kids don’t own expensive smartphones and don’t have wads of money in their pockets. Egg was unique that way — and most likely it actually was his money. It didn’t change a thing, though.

He took Egg by the hand and put a wad of dragons into his palm.

“Don’t forget I have money too,” he said. “My winnings and some savings.”

“Savings?” Egg echoed, but Dunk was already walking down the stairs.  _ Now heroic music should be playing in the background, _ he thought. _ And a close-up of the main character’s face should be up — with his hair wet after the shower, red-rimmed eyes after a sleepless night and a Band-aid covering half of his cheek _ .

Ser Eustace was standing before the front door, hypnotizing it. He was dressed in an old, but neat black suit, white shirt with a tie, his silvery hair was combed, his moustache was trimmed. He looked like a man who dressed up for his owned funeral.

“Are you leaving?” he asked without turning to Dunk. “Yes, it’s time, since I don’t own the motel anymore.”

“I’d like to stay here in the way back,” Dunk said. “And I’d like to pay in advance.”

Ser Eustace finally turned to him — and stared at a plastic bank card that Dunk was offering him.

“There’s about twenty seven thousands. The pin code is my birthday. You guessed it right, I’m twenty… almost.”

The old man thrust his chin forward, his moustache was twitching, there was fire in his sad eyes that was present when he was trying to prove to Egg that current government was worthless.

“This boy of yours! Tell him that I don’t need charity from a Tar…”

“It’s my money,” Dunk cut him off. “Remember, I left for a truck competition at the Twins? Long story short, I won, all of this is my money.”

Ser Eustace listened to hi inn silence, it looked like he calmed down a little. Maybe, he even believed Dunk.

“Don’t call it charity. Think of it as my investment into your motel.”

Stairs creaked behind Dunk’s back: Egg stepped down and watched them talk in silence.

Ser Eustace glanced at him, displeased, but gave no comment and addressed Dunk.

“It this your money? Is it truly yours?”

Dunk shrugged, “You can check the Westernet on who won yesterday at the Twins and how much. I can show you…”

Ser Eustace threw up his arm, stopping Dunk.

“Don’t. Tell me, Dunk, how did it happen that in the precise moment when I’m in need a young man and a boy stop at my motel, both have a lot of money, and both offer it to me? Would you believe in such a coincidence?”

_ If you only knew Ser Arlan, _ Dunk thought.  _ And the way we’ve met _ . If anyone else was in his place he would have beaten the boy digging in his car or went to the police. The boy would have grown up bitter and ended up in jail or knifed in a dark alley by his jail friend. That night Dunk tried to pry his car open. And ten years later a boy with a funny name Egg ran into a grown-up Dunk and asked to give his a lift to the Wall. If it were anyone else he would have refused, or went to the police, or agreed, but grabbed his money and left him stranded on the road. What Ser Eustace considered to be a coincidence actually began a while back.

“It was meant to be.” he said. “It means that someone — I don’t know, maybe even universe itself — gives you another chance. No, I don’t believe that this is a coincidence. That’s precisely the reason you should take the money and give it to Lady Rohanne looking her straight in the eye.”

He stopped to catch his breath and held out the card to Ser Eustace again. The old man shook his head.

“I’d be an idiot to miss such a opportunity, would I? And I really don’t have a choice, do I?”

His hand shook when he took the card and held on to it. Dunk breathed a sigh of relief, behind his back Egg did the same.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Dunk said and rearranged his backpack. “We have to go now. Let’s go, Egg.”

Egg ran to the door and reached it before Dunk, he tried not to look at the old man. Dunk was in a hurry too — what if Ser Eustace changed his mind and returned the money? The old man was silent, though, so Dunk stepped outside, feeling strangely light-headed. Maybe it was because his pockets were empty.


	7. Chapter 7

Two cars were parked in front of the motel: one was yellow sports car and a black SUV. A pretty girl stepped out of the sports car, two stout men followed her lead. Dunk recognized them and assumed the girl was Lady Rohanne.

Her red hair was styled prettily, heavy make-up emphasized her attractive face. Her tiny figure was clad in an emerald mini dress with a low neckline, the shoes matched the dress.

Dunk’s mouth fell open: this beauty was so different from the worried tired woman he talked to yesterday.

“Are you leaving us?” she asked and touched her shoulder. Dunk remembered that tick of hers from the previous meeting when a heavy braid was laying there. “Or are you going to play the role of a noble knight again? Oh,” she said, and her smile faded a little. “what’s that on your cheek?”

Dunk touch the band-aid on his cheek.

“It was an accident. Yes, the boy and I are leaving. I won’t stand in the way of your affairs with Ser Eustace.”

Lady Rohanne narrowed her eyes, lined with green eyeshadow that matched the color of the dress, but didn’t say a word. Dunk stepped aside, letting her in, and went down the stairs, Egg followed. Dunk approached his truck, feeling the weight of Lady Rohanne’s stare on his back. Even when he started the engine, maneuvered on the parking lot and entered the highway the feeling still didn’t go away.

* * *

They were driving in silence. Dunk had many questions to Egg, but right now everything faded compared to the feeling of utter emptiness that filled him. Before this he sat in his truck, saw the road in front of him, and it seemed he was getting closer to fulfilling his dream with every passing mile. Right now, though, he was walking away from it, leaving it behind.

If only he were not wary that all cheap motels at the Twins were booked due to a festival that included the truck competition. If only Lady Rohanne didn’t show up the night he got to the motel. If only he was able to walk away from someone else’s trouble.

He remembered Ser Eustace’s eyes, though, and the way he took the bank card — and his despair eased. This was definitely not a coincidence, then maybe…

_ Maybe my dream grew with me my whole life so one day I could help a lonely old man. And now I don’t need it anymore _ .

Egg sighed deeply and turned the radio on, apparently unable to stand the oppressive silence. Dunk gave him a look, listening to a cheerful pop tune.

“How did you end up in that café?” he asked.

Egg rolled his eyes, but didn’t answer right away.

“My brother and I were going to visit the race — the one you mentioned. Well, more like we were dragged there because the whole family was supposed to be there. If not everyone was present on the pictures we’d have given material for speculations, news crews’d have had a field day, and all that.” He made a face. “My brother doesn’t like these sort of gatherings so he proposed to run away. It was a game. At first we left without bodyguards, didn’t say a word to anyone, didn’t warn anyone. We even changed clothes, just went into a store, bought new normal clothes and hid our own. Then my brother said that I was too easy to recognize and something should be done about it. Well… he shaved my head.”

While he talked he livened up, spoke freely and gestured.

“Then we arrived at that café, and he got drunk,” Egg concluded gloomily. “I told him he was driving and should stop. He said that a beer couldn’t do him wrong, then another…”

Dunk remembered a man sleeping face down on the table in the café where he picked Egg up.

“Do you actually have relatives up North?”

“What do you mean  _ actually _ ? I’ve never lied to you!” Egg flared up.

“Tell me then,” Dunk said slowly, trying to find the right words which wasn’t his strongest suit. “Am I right to assume that all the police in the region is looking for you right now?”

“Probably,” Egg replied carelessly.

“And if I’m stopped with you then they’ll assume I’m the kidnapper, won’t they?”

Egg rolled his eyes again.

“If you do that one more time I’ll box your ears,” Dunk promised. “Really hard. Answer the question.”

“Listen, as soon as we reach the Wall I’ll tell my Dad where I am. And I won’t mention you. I’ll just tell him I got a lift, that’s all. Do you really want to police to come after me right now?”

“Contact your father and brother right now and tell them you’re fine,” Dunk ordered. Egg’s face twisted like he just bit into a lemon, but he obediently took a smartphone out of his pocket. “Tell them where you are and where you’re going.”

Egg stared sadly at his smartphone. Another cheerful tune was playing on the radio — he turned it off without looking.

“You don’t know them, Ser,” he said. “My older brother is so…” He shivered. “He likes selfies, he has 10 million followers in Photogram. He make me pose for pictures with him because pictures with children get more likes. When I was younger he made me wear a dress,” Egg huffed angrily. “And posted it. He thought it was funny. Dad ordered him to delete it, but it still ended up in all sorts of media, many nasty things were written about me. Maybe you even read some. He also fights with paparazzi. He even broke fingers of a lady photographer. You probably read about it too. The other brother is always drinking, like, every day! I swear! I thought he and I will have a real adventure, but it ended really quickly”.

“Tell them where you are,” Dunk repeated.

Egg sighed.

“You probably don’t believe me when I’m complaining because everybody wants to be rich. I don’t want to live without any money in something like Ser Eustace’s motel, but sometimes I just get tired of all of it.” He sighed again. “You wouldn’t understand, of course.”

Egg fell silent and tapped on his smartphone. Finally he tapped ‘send’ and looked at Dunk  reproachfully.

“All done. I wrote that I’m fine and I’ll soon be at the Wall. Are you happy now?”

“Soon? We’ll arrive there in the evening at best.”

Egg shrugged.

“Then they’ll wait.”

They drove in silence once again. Thoughts of Egg, a strange kid from a rich family, distracted Dunk from his own gloomy thoughts. He was a good kid despite coming from whichever family that was constantly frontpage news. Now Dunk finally understood where those strange manners came from, even though Egg didn’t fit the Dunk’s idea of a rich boy.

The most sensible thing to do was to drop the kid off at the nearest police station, but it would be humiliating for Egg.

Dunk absentmindedly watched at the road behind them, but noticed a black car with tinted windows following their truck only when it was almost alongside the truck. The window rolled down, and a dark-skinned stranger who was probably shorter than Dunk waved his hand lazily motioning Dunk to pull over.

“Shit,” Dunk muttered and accelerated the truck.

Egg, who was browsing his smartphone dejectedly, livened up, craned his neck to see what alarmed Dunk so much.

“What’s up?” he asked, blinking.

“Gangsters,” Dunk replied through gritted teeth.

Egg gasped — it was definitely a happy sound — wiggled in the seat to finally see some bandits.

“Do they have guns? Are they going to rob us?” he rattled. “Wow!”

If Dunk’s hands weren’t shaking so badly he would have cuffed him around the ear.

“They can do a lot more than just rob us. They can hit us with something heavy so we wouldn’t be able to recognize them and leave us to die in the nearest ravine.”

“Ah” was the only thing Egg said, but his eyes were shining so brightly it was obvious he didn’t hear Dunk, he was too excited about the upcoming adventure.

Meanwhile the car was pushing the truck toward the side of the road. Dunk gritted his teeth and accelerated. He had little chance of shaking them off, but if he could hold on till the main road the gangsters wouldn’t go after him in front of other drivers. He encountered bandits, who blocked the road, once before, he got off easy only because he put the truck into reverse which the bandits didn’t expect. Now his only hope was to make it to the main road.

He didn’t get such a chance, of course: the car lurched forward and cut in front of the truck — Dunk barely had time to hit the brakes and turn the steering wheel.

The tires screeched, and the truck stopped, while Dunk was really shaken. He looked at Egg sideways: he was staring and apparently he was not as eager about this adventure.

“Call the police,” Dunk ordered, leaning forward and groping for the tire lever.

“S-ser Duncan…” Egg said in a small voice. Dunk straightened and saw the driver exit the car, taking something that looked like a gun out of something that looked like a shoulder holster.

“Don’t move,” Dunk ordered, clutching the metall lever. The thought didn’t even occur to Egg. He was still holding on to his smartphone and apparently he quite forgot that he should be calling the police.

_ If only I dropped Egg off at the nearest police station, _ Dunk thought desperately.  _ If only I didn’t pick him up at all. How will I look his father in the eye? _

With these thoughts he opened the truck door and stepped out to face the gangsters.


	8. Chapter 8

“My apologies,” Lady Rohanne said casually, stirring a cocktail with a straw. “I asked Lucas to stop you at any cost, but I didn’t expect that he’d threaten you with a gun. You’re a beauty too, I must admit,” she giggled like a girl and for a moment looked ten years younger. “Surely no one ever won a fight with a tire lever.”

“I’m glad you find it entertaining,” Dunk muttered, gingerly touching his swollen cheekbone. He disarmed Lucas, that tall unpleasant-looking man, of course, but the others gave him hell. And all that happened because…

“Why do you need us?” Egg interjected. There was a huge hamburger in front of him, a cup of latte with whipped cream and a sugared cherry on top. The kid didn’t touched the food or coffee, though, as if Lady Rohanne was trying to poison him.

There was a glass cup of coffee in front of Dunk which was already half empty — the sleepless night finally caught up with him.

They were sitting in a café — roadside, but good one, in the downtown of the Twins. It were all good and fine if not for Dunk’s bruises. Thank gods, Egg didn’t butt into the fight, otherwise he’d have been beaten up too.

Lady Rohanne squinted and turned to Egg.

“Oh, don’t worry. I was simply looking for company for breakfast. You don’t mind spending some time with me, do you? Well.” she said pensively, “I find you amusing.”

Her face, covered with foundation and other make-up, looked like a piece of fine china, her breasts, advantageously displayed in a dress with low neckline, were covered with freckles, her long nails were covered with scarlet nail polish.

_ She must have freckles all over, on her shoulders and back too, _ Dunk thought out of the blue, and teared his eyes from the low neckline of her dress with some effort. He concentrated on her fingers, tapping a jittery rhythm on the wooden tabletop, and realised that she was angry or at least displeased.

“You resolved your issues with Ser Eustace quickly, I gather?” he asked, feeling increasingly awkward. Now, when Lady Rohanne looked like a model from a magazine cover, it was difficult to talk to her. Admittedly, Dunk always had difficulties conversing with women.

Lady Rohanne’s manicured nails tapped faster on the tabletop.

“Yes, it was dealt with rather quickly,” she replied, tilting her head, and stared at Dunk with slightly ominous smile. “What a strange thing: I wanted to punish a mean old man, and managed to leave an honest long-haul trucker without a stag.”

She leaned back in the chair and laughed.

“I’m ashamed to say that I thought you’ve robbed someone to help Osgrey. But then I was told that a Duncan Tall won a truck competition. And you gave all that money to a man you don’t even know, didn’t you?”

“I like that motel very much,” Dunk said. “I paid forward.”

“A hundred years forward? Don’t think that you’re helping him, though,” Lady Rohanne took a pack of cigarettes out of a tiny clutch that she placed on the back of the chair, took one out, found a lighter and lighted it. “Yes, he’ll pay out his debt, but time will pass, and he’ll owe me again. Don’t think that I like it,” she shrugged. Dunk teared his eyes from her breasts with effort again. “But the situation is I am the head of a corporation, and I’m not in the position to forgive debts.”

“I know why you’re doing this,” Dunk said. “Ser Eustace told me. You won’t bring him back this way, though.”

Lady Rohanne’s fingers, holding cigarette, froze near her red lips.

“What did he say?” she asked icily.

“I know that you loved his son,” Dunk said plainly. “And I think you can’t forgive Ser Eustace because his son is dead.”

Lady Rohanne smirked, shook her head as if amazed by his naivete, then stood up, bent over the table and slapped him. Egg flinched and blinked rapidly, while Dunk clasped his already swollen cheek, dumbfoundly staring at Lady Rohanne who sat back and kept smoking as if nothing happened. The only indication of her wraith were her flaring nostrils.

“You don’t know a thing,” she finally said after finishing her cigarette and carefully stubbing it out in a crystal ashtray. “My father didn’t want to bind himself to a family that openly supported the opposition. In a way he was right, of course,” she smiled coolly. “But he could help with curing Addam when Osgreys were stripped of all their riches for helping Blackfyre and his supporters. Did you know that he sent them money? Father thought of giving him a loan, but Osgrey was stubborn and refused. It didn’t occur to him that his son was seriously ill. Then it was too late…” she said pensively, taking out a new cigarette.

“You could forgive his debt,” Dunk said, at least, he tried, but Lady Rohanne’s small hand was strong. Left side of his face went numb as well as his lips.

She pulled at her cigarette and exhaled the smoke with pleasure through her red glossy lips.

“I don’t want to get up again,” Lady Rohanne said. “And I don’t want to repeat myself, trucker, that I can’t afford such charity. When after my father’s death his business passed to me no one took me seriously. I was a woman, and a too young one. I had to be much rougher with workers and partners for them to finally take me seriously. I succeeded.” She shrugged — not flirting, but stating a fact. “I also married advantageously several times.” Her smile grew bitter. “And unfortunately I became a widow every time. Advantageously for business, unfortunately for me. Now I’m my own woman, though, and I can marry whomever I wish. Even you,” she put down the cigarette into the ashtray, took a tiny espresso cup and sipped, staring at Dunk whose face was burning. “A noble young man saving an old beggar from a dragon. A knight in shining truck.”

“W-why are you telling me this?”Dunk’s voice quivered, but he felt increasingly uneasy listening to Rohanne Webber’s confessions. By the looks of it, Egg was dumbfounded too.

She shrugged again, picked up the cigarette and brought it to her lips again.

“Probably because I wanted to tell somebody about it. Because it was genuinely unpleasant thing to do. Because I rarely see such honest fools willing to help a person in need at their own expense. Because I’m a little jealous of them. You’re an interesting man, and I bet I’ll hear about you again. And you’re honorable — I’m sure that you won’t sell my confessions to newspapers. If you’re not that honorable, at least you’re smart enough not to do that. Do you want anything else? My treat.”

Dunk shook his head. Yes, he was hungry, but this whole thing made him sick. Lady Rohanne was fascinating, he had no doubt that he’d remember her for a long time, but bruises from the fight with her men still hurt.

“Thanks, but we need to go, we’re late,” he said, standing up. Lady Rohanne gestured him to stop.

“Wait. Ser Eustace told me something this morning, but I decided that the old man had gone completely mad because of his hatred for Targaryens.” She tilted her head again, but this time stared at Egg. To Dunk’s surprise the kid stared back. He wasn’t wearing his cap, his head was covered with white stubble of hair, his dark eyes had a purple tint to them. He stared at Lady Rohanne not as a boy staring at a grown woman at whose mercy he was at the moment, but as equal stares at equal… No, like he was in control of the situation.

_ I never said that I was poor, that I had no money. My father is very rich, this is my pocket money — in a way _ .

Lady Rohanne stared suspiciously, then apparently she recognized Egg because her eyes grew wide.

“What an… unusual companion you have,” she said. The cigarette in her hand was reduced to ashes. She turned to Dunk. “You really are an interesting man, I’d like to have a cup of coffee with you some time. But since you’re in a hurry I won’t keep you, but I’d like to speak for a few minutes with…”

“My name is Egg,” he reminded her.

Dunk’s eyebrows went up: he didn’t want to leave the kid alone with Lady Rohanne, but Egg nodded.

“I’m fine. I’ll come over in a few minutes.”

Lady Rohanne gave Dunk a vacant look and turned to Egg. So Dunk had to go outside and wait. Lady Rohanne’s gorillas didn’t even move when he passed them by, only battered Lucas shot him such an angry stare that Dunk felt its burn on his back when he reached the front door.

He was standing by the truck, his hands crossed on his chest, and waited, examining elaborate carving of the wooden railing of the café’s veranda. Rohanne probably recognized Egg, he did say that his family often ended up on the frontlines of the media. Leaving them alone was… unwise, but Egg looked so confident. Dunk suddenly realized that he never asked the kid’s full name.

It probably would have meant nothing to him, but knowing the name of the rich notorious family… It probably wouldn’t have changed his opinion of the kid, but he still wanted for Egg to be only Egg — a little spoiled brat, but a good and kind boy nevertheless.

The sun was almost in zenith — which meant that they’d reach the Wall closer to midnight. No, not ‘they’, he alone. The kid had enough adventures. If real gangsters, not Rohanne’s men, met them met them on the road, they would have had no problem killing both of them, the driver and the passenger.

Egg left the café looking pleased — whatever the topic he discussed with Rohanne, he was delighted with the result.

“All done, we can go,” he announced merrily, then stopped and stared at Dunk. “What happened?”

“You’re not going,” Dunk replied. “Enough, you’ve travelled too far.”

“But why?” Egg asked perplexed. “I… I can pay a lot!”

Dunk smiled at that: now there was a rich boy who thought money could buy anything.

“Because you’re too precious a cargo to travel without guards. What if real gangsters were following us? What if something happened? There’s a dangerous part of the Kingsroad ahead, I won’t take responsibility for your safety and your life there. Because I can’t guarantee either.”

“But, ser…”

“I said no!”

Egg sulked. He obviously understood that he had no chance of changing Dunk’s mind, and that his adventure has come to an end. He took his cap off his head and twirled it in his hands, frowning. Maybe he was trying to find another way, the right words.

“You’ll stay here, in the café, and tell your parents where to find you. I will call the police, you’ll be safe till you meet your parents.”

Dunk spoke and felt it was the right thing to do, but still it was hard to do, he had a lump in his throat. He should call his superiors and inform them that he and the cargo were going to be late, like, really late. That wasn’t the reason he was feeling ill at ease, though. He didn’t want to hand Egg to the police as if he were a runaway. He didn’t want this trip to end this way — Egg wanted adventures, and adventures don’t end this way, don’t end in such a melancholy mood. He promised to give the kid a ride, but now he was breaking this promise. And the rest of the trip will be lonely.

“Are you planning to drop the child on me, Ser Duncan?”

Dunk resurfaced from his gloomy thoughts and stared at Lady Rohanne, who entered the veranda after Egg and smiled at him, leaning on the railing.

“This might be my café, and I’d be glad to have a longer chat with your companion, but my waiters don’t do babysitting, while my time is too expensive, I can’t spend it looking after someone else’s children.”

Dunk felt hot — what a way to interpret his words! Lady Rohanne smirked and continued, “I can make your journey safe, though. Drive with ease, Duncan Tall, my people will accompany you till Winterfell itself.”

Egg dashed to Dunk, delighted, but stopped in front of him and asked timidly, “Can you take me with you now?”

Dunk swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course. Get in, we need to get going.”

Lady Rohanne smiled, looking at them and seemed to be a real girl.

Egg shut the truck door behind him, and Dunk, feeling extremely awkward, walked to the veranda and stood before Lady Rohanne. Their eyes were level now.

“Thank you,” he said.

She shrugged.

“It’s hard to pass an opportunity to do a favour for a son of such a man. I’ve never had such high connections in my life.”

“No, I meant,” Dunk said, “thanks for leaving the motel to Ser Eustace.”

Lady Rohanne raised one touched-up eyebrow.

“Leaving? Far from it. I know that he’ll fail, he’ll lose it one way or another…”

Dunk felt cold, clenched his fists  involuntarily, but she laughed.

“It’s a shared ownership motel now. I’m one of the owners now, an investor so to say. Don’t worry, Duncan, your money won’t be wasted, it will be spent in a good cause. Finally the old man will be able to fix the roof. He and I have a truce.”

She went down the stairs and looked up into his face.

“All thanks to you and your boy. I couldn’t afford to pity the old man and  forgive his debt. Now I can.”

The tips of her well-manicured fingers, covered with red nail polish to compliment her lipstick, touched his chest.

“I rarely meet people like you. I think I’ll hear again about your latest heroic act.”


	9. Chapter 9

They drove in silence: Dunk felt guilty for rebuffing the kid, Egg was afraid to say anything (apparently he thought that Dunk’d stop at the nearest police post). At last Dunk got tired of this oppressive silence.

“Do you know the Free Cities rally?”

Egg furrowed his brows, contemplated the question for a while, then shook his head.

“It’s a competition among truck drivers in your favourite Essos. One must travel from Pentos to Volantis through deserts and prairie — almost half of the continent. One needs a team, of course, a decent truck and spare parts. One also needs equipment and the downpayment. All the expenses, including that downpayment, sum up to thirty thousands dragons.”

Egg fell silent, digesting this information.

“And you had twenty seven thousands.”

“Yeah. I could have saved up the rest in about six months or I could have taken a loan. The prizes there are huge, they recompense all the expanses. Another thing is the height doesn’t matter there, it’s not car racing.”

Egg fell silent again.

“So you gave up your dream, just like that,” he said.

“How come?” Dunk replied, having bitter taste in his mouth and trying to distract himself with thoughts of Winterfell where they’d be arriving soon. “No one can take my dream away from me. I gave some money that can help to fulfil someone else’s dream. Maybe, even two.”

He laughed at his own joke, but Egg stared at him.

“If I were…” he started, but cut himself short, sat back and turned to his smartphone.

Three hours later, when they stopped at a gas station close to Winterfell, and the great castle became visible on the horizon, Egg was still sitting on his seat. Only when Dunk called out his name he jumped, went to the bathroom and returned to his seat. He didn’t even buy any chocolate bars like the previous time.

As soon as Dunk opened his mouth if he were hungry Egg’s stomach grumbled so loudly that all questions were instantly answered.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Dunk said.

“No, thanks,” Egg replied without taking his eyes off his smartphone.

“Why? You have a lot of money, aren’t you…” Dunk stopped. He never was the sharpest tool in the shed, but suddenly it seemed like a voice whispered the answer into his ear.

“You gave your money to the old man, didn’t you?”

“Not the old man,” Egg grumbled, sliding down the seat so the cap covered his whole face. “Lady Webber.”

“How? Why?”

“So she wouldn’t meddle with him again. She didn’t want to take it, but I said that it was from our family. Now we’re shareholders too.”

Dunk remembered tiny dingy motel that long-haul drivers didn’t visit and tried to count the number of ‘shareholders’.

“I have some chocolate bars here,” he said, opening the glove compartment. “We’ll be in Winterfell in an hour, I’ll show you a diner. You’ll like it.”

***

Winterfell appeared in their line of sight suddenly, out of nowhere — a huge dark mass appeared after an endless row of trees.

Surrounded by apartment houses, ancient castle of the Starks stood behind a double wall of grey granite, white flags with direwolf heads flapped on tower spires.

Dunk looked out of the rearview mirror: a dark car that he took for bandits’ one earlier and that actually belonged to Lady Rohanne’s men, finally fell behind. They were following the truck from the Twins up the Kingsroad. Even though Dunk knew they meant no harm, the convoy still unnerved him. Having very happy, and thus, excessively talkative, Egg in the cabin was worth dragging an unpleasant tail for a few hours.

Cold air swept in from the half-opened window, and Egg shivered wrapped his sports jacket tighter around hm.

“We’ll visit the Winter Town and buy you some warm clothes,” Dunk promised.

Egg’s face darkened.

“I promised to pay you, and now you’re spending money on me. Don’t, I need to get to the Wall, my cousin lives there. I’ll get warm there.”

“No way, you won’t make it to the Wall in this. And I should deliver the goods safe and sound, after all, I have a reputation to uphold. We’ll talk about my expanses later, ok?”

“Sorry,” Egg muttered. He still looked guilty, but visibly cheered up. “What’s this Winter Town about?”

“Wow,” he said, looking around the town. Dunk’s jacket reached his knees, he had to hold the sleeves in his hands so they wouldn’t be dragging on the ground.

Dunk knew that feeling: the first time he came here he didn’t know at which market stall to look at first, which café to visit. He was also overwhelmed by the crowds.

Holding Egg by the shoulder so he wouldn’t get lost, Dunk led him through the overcrowded. square.

“This used to be a small town, craftsmen, working in Winterfell, lived here. Now it hosts the largest market in the North,” he explained on the way. “You can buy knitted clothes, animal skins, even a mammoth tusk. Right, this is the place we need.”

They stopped in front of a stall selling down-padded and snow jackets. Dunk expected to buy something cheaper, but Egg’s eyes alighted at the sight of a grey jacket with direwolf’s head and words  _ The winter is coming _ so he reluctantly paid for it, and for a cap with Stark’s direwolf and their words printed on it.

Suited-up and no longer cold Egg cheered up, and words flowed out of him like a stream.

“Have you ever been in the castle, ser? Dad told me that they still use fireplace for the benefit of their guests, so it’s not cheap. And also there’s a Godwood here, can you imagine that? And hot springs, something like a spa, it’s very high-class. And a greenhouse from ancient times, it used to be a kitchen garden, now it’s more like an arboretum. There’s also a crypt where all Starks were buried, it contains statues and stone tombs. I’ve only seen the pictures, but always wanted to visit the castle! You must, too!”

“Right,” Dunk laughed. “After I rent a room, get warm by a fireplace and take a hot bath in the springs. Here we are.”

Egg raised his eyebrow, staring at the sign  _ Smoldering log _ , but Dunk shoved him towards the door.

He loved this pub, he’s visited it as a kid when he travelled with Ser Arlan. This was the place where he first tried ale — when Ser Arlan left for the bathroom one of the regulars shoved a jug his way. After that it took them awhile to get to the Wall, Dunk vomited all over Ser Aslan’s battered pick-up truck.

“Wow,” Egg said when they entered the establishment. “Are there always so many people here?”

The pub was packed, most of the people were clustered near the bar counter: something clearly interesting was happening there, it meant that they wouldn’t be able to have a quiet evening.

“Dunk! Long time no see, I was beginning to forget your face,” a waitress winked at him, passing them by, and patted the hood of Egg’s jacket. “Who’s this? Your little brother?”

“Hi,” Dunk smiled, hoping that she won’t elaborate on her forgetfulness in front of the kid. Long time ago she was the first girl he kissed. “What’s going on here? Why the crowd?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Arm wrestling competition. Don’t worry, come on in, we’ll find you a spot.”

Egg’s eyes grew wide.

“Competition? Let’s see it!”

They went to see it, of course, and even managed to squeeze to the first rows, even though someone behind slapped Dunk none so gently on the back.

Two men were sitting at a table, surrounded by fans and other team members. One was dark-haired, clean-shaven man with bulging muscles, he looked like a cover model for an arm wrestling magazine. The other was a stocky red-haired bearded man taller than his rival, even when seated.

His tattooed hand was less muscled, but he still had the aura of power.

“Why are their hands tied?” Egg whispered. Dunk shrugged. Men’s palms were tied with a strip of fabric.

“So the grip won’t break, they sweat.”

The competition started, veins on the bearded man’s arm became visible, he was leaning his rival arm to the table. The dark-haired man, his face purple from strain, held on. It took a moment for Dunk to place the new sound: the strip of fabric, binding the competitors’ hands, was ripping.

The competition was stopped, the hands were tied again, and it started all over again. Sturdy tattooed men were cheering for the bearded men, hunks cheered for the dark-haired one.

The fabric ripped two more times before the bearded man smashed his rival’s hand onto a small cushion placed on the table. The winner laughed, the dark-haired man shook his hand, it looked a little swollen.

“Rumour has it, long-haul truckers invented arm wrestling,” Dunk said to Egg who watched the preparation for the next round in open-mouthed awe. “It’s boring to sit in a bar and drink beer, so they started competing. That bearded man — he’s an ex-trucker, I’ve read about him.”

Egg mumbled something under his breath, but his eyes were glued to two men at the table.

When they finally settled at their table and the now familiar waitress brought them hamburgers and coffee, the red-haired bearded man approached them. His team eventually won even if by a slender margin, but everyone celebrated with vigour.

“I hope you’re not with those guys,” he nodded at ex-rivals, who were quietly rinsing down their defeat.

“No,” Dunk replied. “I came here to have dinner. I’ve had enough of... competitions.”

The bearded man grinned.

“I wager, such a goon like you has something up his sleeve.”

Dunk choked: yes, his height could be a envied, if one didn’t know about its disadvantages. Dunk’s never been called a goon before, though.

“I doubt it,” he shook his head. He had a hamburger in front of him — sesame bun, beef patty, sliced tomatoes — and the only thing he wanted after such an excited day was to eat in peace.

The bearded man patted him on the shoulder.

“Oh come on, do us a favour. I promise to give in,” he added, and his friends laughed.

Egg made a face and said patronizingly through gritted teeth, “He said he didn’t want to.”

“Yes, I’m talking to him right now, kid, I’m not deaf,” the bearded man squinted. “Your face seems familiar. From TV or something.”

Egg frowned and reached out for his cap which made the bearded man press on.

“Don’t put it on. I’m certain I’ve seen you on TV many times…”

Dunk rose. It turned out he was half a head taller than the man.

“You don’t need to go easy on me,” he said.

***

Dunk learned all the tricks and tips of arm wrestling on the go: the bearded man kindly explained the rules, while the table was again surrounded by spectators who just barely calmed down.

During the competition he saw many arm wrestlers who looked ridiculous, almost lying on the table. He didn’t want to look like an idiot, but what were his chances against the champion? There was no shame in losing, but he didn’t want to look like a cookie-pusher.

The crowd was snickering, but no one tried to talk the bearded man out of competing with Dunk. Everyone thought it was amusing — everyone apart from Egg who had his cap pulled down low and looked from underneath it with worry.

“The boy should have his hand warmed up to start with,” one of bearded man’s friends said, but he waved that worry away with a crooked drunken grin:

“Look, he’s huge. He’ll do me with his hands tied behind his back.”

Both put one elbow on the table and free hands on special handles that could be used as leverage, even though Dunk realized that only a miracle could save him now. They clutched each other’s hands: the bearded man’s fingers gripped his palm so tightly that Dunk cringed. Why does this shit keep happening to him? Ser Arlan would have only shook his head.

“Go!” one of the spectators shouted, and Dunk prepared himself for failure, but still used all his strength to press the man’s hand down. It was useless: pressing his hand was like trying to crumple a stone. The bearded man fooled around: he grunted, flexed his muscles, complained about ‘that big fellow’ and his strength. Onlookers laughed, gave advice, pitied the bearded man and asked Dunk to be gentle. He caught Egg’s eye and managed a smile: the kid relaxed, realizing that there was no actual danger.

“I’m done for, boys,” the bearded man announced and suddenly pushed Dunk’s hand down with all his might. He managed to tense his muscles at the last moment at in attempt to resist, but the back of his hand hit the cushion, pain so severe soared through his elbow that he cried out. His voice drowned in the laughter and hooting of the bearded man’s pals.

He was guffawing, shaking his hand.

“You’re a beast,” he said, patting Dunk’s back. “Don’t take offence, kid, but we owe you a beer.”

“I’m driving…”

Finally he and Egg were able to sit at their table. To Dunk’s astonishment warm and fresh hamburgers were served.

The waitress winked at him, walking by.

Egg stared at him in alarm.

“Are you alright?”

Dunk tried to bend and unbend his arm and winced.

“Not really. Don’t worry,” he added hastily when Egg’s eyes grew wide. “I’ll be able to drive you to the Wall even with one hand.”

“We can report him to the police! It’s called causing bodily harm…”

Dunk waved him away with the hand that moved.

“They’ll just laugh at me because I tried to take on a professional wrestler. Nah, let’s eat and start for the Wall. I don’t what kind of road is up there, but if we get lucky we’ll get there before midnight. Will your relatives be worried? Maybe police is waiting there for us, and I’ll be shot on the spot as a kidnapper.”

“No, that won’t happen, I’m sure,” Egg said confidently, looked at his smartphone and suddenly jumped up. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, where are you going?” The kid was gone before Dunk could blink, leaving him to eat up his hamburger, — with the audience’s drunken laughter.

A beer was put in front of him, half of the head landed on the varnished tabletop. Dunk looked at the waitress reproachfully, but she shrugged and nodded at the table where cheerful winners were sitting.

Dunk’s already finished his meal, asked to pack Egg’s hamburger and a coffee to go and went to search for the kid, leaving the untouched beer on the table. Egg met him at the door. He was out of breath, but looked pleased with himself.

“Let’s go!” he said in a commanding tone like he was giving orders to a personal chauffeur, and Dunk cuffed him around the ear with relief. The arm hurt again.


	10. Chapter 10

“Can I drive for a little while?”

Dunk, who just got comfortable in his seat, raised his eyebrows. Egg was fidgeting and staring at him with enthusiasm.

“Well, you can try. Do you know how to drive a car?”

Egg’s happy face fell a little. Changing places with Dunk, he replied dryly, “My brother taught me.”

“The one who dressed you up as a girl and posted the picture?”

“Aerion, yeah. We almost crashed the car then, I was afraid to sit in one for about a month afterwards. Bastard! Oh, I hate him!” he finished with feeling. “Erm, how do I reached the brakes here?”

He tried to reach the pedal with his foot and crawled right under the steering wheel. Dunk laughed, remembering himself in the driver’s seat for the first time: he was almost Ser Arlan’s height at the time.

“It’s because the seat is pulled back and arranged for my comfort. Let me fix it a bit.”

Thus they lost almost half an hour, but Egg’s delighted face was worth it. Dunk only hoped that fines for late arrival wouldn’t be that huge.

“If you want to become a long-haul driver this is a good start,” he promised.

“Very funny,” Egg replied. “Even though sometimes I want to go as far from my family as possible. My cousin will always find me, though. I’m sure he know where we are right now, and if we really were in danger he would have raised hell.”

“Is that the one you’re visiting?”

“Yeah. You’ve heard about him too.”

He practically missed Egg’s last words. While he was arranging the seat back to his favourite position such intense pain shot through his elbow that he almost cursed aloud.

***

They reached the Wall after sunset. It glowed in the dark, illuminated by limelights, and sparkled like all the jewels of the world at once.

Dunk’d seen it before, but on previous two occasions he arrived during daytime, unloaded the cargo and hurried back. He saw the Wall like this for the first time, it almost glowed. Those watchmen, who walked it in ancient times, probably never dreamed of what it’d become many centuries later.

“Many say that there’s a special service here: you can pretend to take vows of the Night’s Watch,” Egg broke the silence. “You must swear an oath to the Night’s Watch, some bla-bla-bla about the the sword in the darkness and mention of gods. Then you dress in black. You can scout beyond the Wall and search for the Wildlings. You can take a sword and practice with an instructor. You’ll spend nights in the tiny rooms where watchmen used to live.”

“Then what?” Dunk asked. “What about the oath about  _ bla-bla-bla, my watch shall not end till my death _ ?”

He loved books and movies about the Night’s Watch as a kid and liked these people who swore to protect the realms of men till death. Eventually they did hold off the attack of the Others and saved Westeros and all humankind to boot. Words about  _ bla-bla-bla oath _ made him cringe.

Egg only shrugged and answered sensibly, “Only criminals and bastards enrolled into the Night’s Watch, and it was something like a prison for them.They were forbidden to leave. Some things become irrelevant with time.”

“The oath was created at the time when serving in the Night’s Watch was still an honorable thing to do. The Starks’d sent their younger sons there, and other Houses of the North too,” Dunk kept pushing.

“What a hard life those younger sons led if they were willing to spend their whole life here,” Egg sighed. “I’m a younger son too, and I don’t have much of a future in terms of career, but I’d prefer to live somewhere warm. Was there ever a Day’s Watch? Preferably somewhere in Essos with palm trees and sea shore.”

“Of course, there was,” Dunk replied in tune. “They were called the Unsullied, though.”

Egg laughed and almost fell of his seat.

“Alright then,” he replied when he was able. “I’d take the Night’s Watch, the cold and mammoths.”

“Why are you not taking pictures of the Wall?” Dunk asked. “Look, rumour has it it melts a little every summer so grab your chance.”

Usually Egg took pictures of everything that peaked his interest and never parted with his smartphone, but he didn’t take it out even once since the Winter Town.

Egg’s smile faded, he even blushed a little.

“I sold it at the market,” he explained nonchalantly.

“What? But we almost arrived! Your cousin’s here, how will you contact him?”

Instead of answering Egg rummaged through the pockets of his new jacket and took out a small box. He looked completely embarrassed when he offered it to Dunk.

“Here. You, ser, probably don’t have any money left since you didn’t buy her anything. And Brynden will find me anyway, he always knows everything, he probably followed me from that café where we met. Take it. Please.”

Staring alternatively at the road and Egg, who was offering him the box, Dunk took it with his left hand, placed it on his knee and took the cover off. Two earrings were lying on a cream silk bedding — silvery lacework with sprinkling of black gemstones.

Dunk imagined Tanselle wearing them, and his breath hitched.

“Egg…”

He smiled, pleased with Dunk’s reaction.

“And take her out on a date for gods’ sake,” he added patronizingly.

If Dunk’s arm were fine he would have cuffed the insolent kid around the ear. But his arm hurt even when he simply bent it so he only replied, “Yeah. I should have done it long ago.”

The town greeted them with a peeling-off sign with word NIGHT’S WATCH and a figure of a watchman — a sketchy bearded man in a black fur cloak with a burning sword in his hand.

_ I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. _

Long time ago people lived here and couldn’t leave these walls, and now some rich bums play pretend at being the saviours of the humankind, living in their houses and making fun of their customs and holy oaths.

“Hey! That’s Blackfyre!”

Dunk surfaced from his gloomy thoughts. Egg was almost jumping in his seat, pointing at the window.

“Where? What Blackfyre?”

“Daemon Blackfyre,” Egg said through gritted teeth. He climbed on the seat, pressed his face to the window and stared at something that the truck’s left behind.

“He’s dead,” Dunk replied in confusion. He’s never seen Egg so angry. Yes, he quarrelled with Ser Eustace so loudly that Dunk heard it from his room upstairs, but even then Egg remembered his manners and quickly cooled down. Right now he was shaking with ire, though, there was no trace of the good-natured boy Dunk’s travelled with.

“It’s his son! He’s here! He says nasty things about my Dad and Uncle! He has a meeting with his constitutions today, did you know that?”

“ _ About my Dad? _ ” Dunk repeated, dumbfounded, and blinked. The events of the last two days played in front of his mind’s eye. Everything Egg mentioned about his family, all the names he named, Ser Eustace’s angry remark  _ I don’t need charity from a Tar _ … Brother Aerion, cousin Brynden…

Of all rich and powerful families in Westeros he decided to give a ride to the President’s nephew and the Senator’s son. Who accidentally was also a nephew of Brynden Rivers, the man who created the Homeland security system as it was functioning now, suppressing any forms of ideological dissention.

An election race was in full swing: candidates of different parties and regions grasped for the seats in the Senate, everyone had some choice words to say about the establishment.

Furthermore, he brought Egg to the Night’s Watch the evening when Daemon Targaryen Jr. had a meeting with people who still remembered the Crimson Night.

Were Ser Arlan alive he would have cuffed him around the ear and called him an idiot.

Dunk didn’t really pay attention to national news. The Targaryens were the reigning House, _ the true kings _ as the press called them. Illusion of democracy was just that — an illusion, and he grew up with the idea that it couldn’t be changed. Presidential and senatorial elections were a bogus, a fraud, a parody of liberty, and Dunk always let it all flow over his head.

He remembered the Targaryens mostly on glossy magazine covers in press stands when he bought  _ The Grand Prix _ , a title on closed-circuit races and race cars. The Targaryens had peculiar appearance: men and women with fair hair and dark eyes. Dunk’s often seen photos of topless Aerion on the cover of some men’s magazine or his face, twisted in rage, on the front page of  _ The Sun and Stars _ tabloid with the headline reading something like  _ Drunk Senator’s Son Sped Around KL All Night & Hit Five Pedestrians _ .  _ I’ve even heard about Egg! _ he thought in amazement, remembering other long-haul drivers discussing in his presence an article about a senator’s son who thought he was a girl and liked to wear dresses.  _ It’s their punishment,  _ one of them said, meaning the Targaryens.

And everyone in Westeros was familiar with the face of President Aerys Targaryen — well, maybe apart from the blind.

“Dad calls him a sleazy populist,” Egg mumbled, clenching his fists. He was blushing scarlet in anger, his nostrils were flaring. “He says Daemon uses his resemblance to his father and the guilt for the Crimson Night among the people as a way to get into the Senate, but he’s not qualified to tie Dad’s shoes!”

“Is your Dad Maekar Targaryen?” Dunk asked, struggling to return his gaze back to the road. Family likeness seemed to be too obvious not to see it now.

“Well, yes,” Egg snorted as if Dunk should have guessed it long ago. Someone smarter would have done so, of course.

Meanwhile they reached the neighbourhood where Dunk was supposed to finally get rid of his cargo. Police cars were lined along the road, and it made Dunk even tenser. According to GPS if they turned here they’d end up in the deadend which also was the backyard of the restaurant that ordered the delivery.

The road was blocked, though, the cop on duty shook his head when the truck stopped in front of orange cones placed on the asphalt.

Dunk rolled down his window.

“What’s happening?” he asked. “When will the road be opened?”

The man shook his head again.

“It’s here to stay, pal. There’s a meeting of the deputy with her constitutions at the square. Until they’re done talking,” he smirked showing his attitude toward this event,” I’m afraid I can’t let you pass.”

Egg mumbled something that Dunk couldn’t make out, but it was obviously an insult toward Daemon Blackfyre Jr.

Dunk parked nearby and stepped out of the truck, stretching his legs with pleasure and dialing the number of the restaurant’s director with freezing fingers. He didn’t pick up the first or the second call. Egg jumped out of the truck too, snow was crunching under his sneakers. Dunk didn’t have enough money to buy him winter boots, but he bought him nice woolen socks in the Winter Town. It looked like Egg wasn’t cold.

Dunk contemplated the situation, staring at his phone in numb fingers. What was he to do if he was late with arrival and had a high chance of spending the night here?

He tried calling his superior at the King’s Landing — with no result. He blew on his fingers, looked at Egg who was jumping on the spot. His legs looked especially thin compared to huge bubble coat.

“Now let me take you,” he cleared his throat, “to your cousin. Should I drop you off at the Homeland security office or at any police station?”

“The Government palace will do fine. And I can walk there myself,” Egg grumbled. It was obvious that the upcoming meeting with relatives upset him. “Where are you going?”

Dunk waved a hand in no particular direction.

“I’ll be waiting till someone replies what I’m to do with the cargo. Let me walk you, you’re a big boy, of course, but I won’t worry that way.”

Egg bit his lip, thinking, then agreed. His face even brightened a little because they weren’t parting just yet.

They passed the policeman and trudged to the square and the Government palace. It wasn’t a palace exactly, of course, like the Red Keep in the King’s Landing, former residence of kings, it was a small three-storey building that Dunk never payed attention to (he wasn’t even sure where it was).  _ It’s a good thing Night’s Watch is a small town, _ Dunk thought when he and Egg reached the square and pressed forward through the crowd.

“Let’s go to a café!” Egg proposed, staring at Dunk from under his cap. “Come on,” he pleaded impatiently when Dunk shook his head. “My treat. Brynden will grill me on where I’ve been, what antisocial behavior I’ve displayed and what sort of legal trouble I’ve gotten myself into so I won’t have a decent meal for a while. I have some money left from the phone sale, I’ll buy you coffee and a bun. You did buy me food before.”

“Alright,” Dunk said. He was quite cold, it’d be good to warm up.

The crowd was restless, and Egg grabbed Dunk’s sleeve so he wouldn’t get lost.

“...calm Dorne!” a clear voice carried from a platform erected in the square. Dunk looked around in displeasure. Someone was standing on the platform, surrounded by bodyguards, screens on both sides of the platforms showed his face. It was young and handsome.

“Daemon Blackfyre,” Dunk muttered. Egg stopped abruptly and tugged him toward the platform. “What are you doing?”

“I want to hear what he has to say,” Egg replied through gritted teeth. “How he proposes to calm Dorne. Aren’t you wondering who this candidate is, who is the opposition now?”

Dunk sighed, but followed him. They did have nothing to do after all, it was curious to see and hear the son of the deceased Blackfyre who almost became the president.

Blackfyre had fair hair and dark eyes of a Targaryen. He was a relative of the current President because his father was a stepbrother of the previous one. He resembled his opponent Maekar Targaryen, the candidate from the King’s Landing and the current senator.

“...people will not riot because they want to. No one wants violence, no one wants to kill. People are discontented because they are suffering. Because they are made to suffer! We will calm Dorne, we’ll give them what they want, and peace will come,” Blackfyre preached from the platform. One must admit that he did look very convincing as if his speeches weren’t written by a whole team and rehearsed, it looked like he was speaking from his heart. “No, we won’t let them separate — because it’s our land, it’s Westeros! But we’ll let them know that it’s important to be a part of us, to be a part of this great country!”

“I’d like to see him do that,” Egg hissed. He looked livid. “Does he have a program at all?”

Dunk looked left and right. People around listened to Blackfyre enthusiastically and cheered.

“If a mechanism doesn’t work it must be broken. It means there’s a failure, and some parts need to be replaced. Maybe the whole mechanism needs to be replaced!” Daemon announced cheerfully from the platform, causing weak applause.  _ It must be paid for, _ Dunk thought with anger that surprised him. Egg’s ire must be contagious. “How long will we live in an unipolar world? How long will we tolerate everything that’s happening now?”

“How do you tolerate yourself?” Egg asked rather loudly. Blackfyre didn’t hear him, he turned to another topic with passion, but a tall man with pitted face that stood beside him noticed Egg.

“Did you say something, boy?” he asked in an unexpectedly bitchy tone.

Egg smirked in return.

“I said I didn’t understand how he could tolerate himself.”

“What are you doing here, sharp-tongued boy?”

“I love to hear people lie to other people’s faces,” Egg retorted. “I’d love to see him find excuses for the mess.”

“Enough,” Dunk said, putting a hand on kid’s shoulder, but the man already jabbed his friend on the shoulder.

“Hey, look at that. A baby came here to open our eyes. Which side are you on, boy? Targaryens?”

“Yes, I’m for the Targaryens,” Egg replied boldly, and Dunk finally cuffed him around the ear. His head snapped forward.

“We were just passing by,” Dunk said. “Egg, that’s it, Egg, let’s go, we wanted to go to a café, remember?”

He turned around, but another man half a head shorter than him blocked his way.

“Are you implying that he can call a Blackfyre a liar and get away with it?”

Egg, whom Dunk was holding back by the shoulder, tensed, but Dunk tried to reply as calmly as possible.

“Yes, if it’s a child who know not what he says.”

“But you’re an adult,” the man retorted, nodding and narrowing his eyes. “Or you side with the Blackfyres while your boy sides with the Targaryens, is that the case? You know,” he addressed Egg, bending almost in half, ”my brother bit a bullet during the Crimson Night, I’d gladly spit in the face of any Targaryen I see.”

“Hey!” Dunk warned him, trying to step back. 

Egg pressed himself closer to him in fear, buut thrust his chin forward and said in a shaky voice, “You can try.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, he whistled.

“Are you a Targaryen, boy?”

“He’s a gods’ fool,” Dunk snapped, hugging Egg, “who knows not what he says.”

Daemon Blackfyre was still preaching from the platform, receiving favourable attitude of the crowod. Even if there were hired people in the square their every cry of  _ Off the Targs! _ was countered by at least two cries of  _ Blackfyres to the Senate! _

Everyone was watching the platform, taking in promises of change, smoothing things out with Dorne, stopping violence, increasing quality of life and reducing unemployment. Everyone promised that, of course, but some were less articulate that young Daemon was now. His main advantage, though, was the face and the name of his father, Blackfyre Sr.


	11. Chapter 11

Many years have passed since the Crimson Night, and many things have happened in Westeros since then: the spring epidemic, undeclared war with Dorne that separatists started by talking about Dorne’s independence (it resulted in talks of the same in the North, the Reach and on the Iron Isles). The Targaryens’ reputation have suffered: first the tragic death of Baelor, the most charismatic member of the family (that was laid at the door of sullen and resentful Maekor who became a butt of many jokes), President Aerys’s lack of character, nation’s hatred of Brynden Rivers who was nicknamed  _ Butcher  _ and  _ Bloodraven _ on the net. Moreover, Aeryon kept happening to the Targaryens lately, he was a regular guest star of society and crime columns. The family was losing reputation and public trust. Against this background the image of Daemon Blackfyre shone brighter. He was a man of the people, the symbol of lost hope and unfulfilled miracle. He was a promise of change that the people longed for. Change and revenge.

“Even years and decades later we’ll get to the truth!” Daemon was booming. “I personally will oversee the investigation, I’ll find the people guilty of murdering my father and many others who died, trying assert their right to choose their future!”

Everyone was looking at him, catching his every word while three men were closing in on Dunk and Egg.

Dunk tried to look for policemen — and saw one close to speakers, but he was staring into the middle distance with a bored expression on his face. No, no one will hear no matter how loudly he called for help.

“Well then, boy,” the tall man continued to taunt Egg. “What about a little history lesson? Or just a lesson since your older brother apparently teaches you nothing.”

He raised his hand to hit Egg, Dunk shoved him away and stood in front of the kid, who was staring angrily. Maybe Dunk had a chance of pushing through to the platform, these three probably won’t get into their faces in front of the whole crowd. If his hand weren’t hurting so much he would have done something, but with only left hand functioning…

“So, big guy,” the second one with pitted face stepped forward. “You think since you’re so tall then you’re formidable, don’t you?”

Dunk barely restrained himself from stepping back. He couldn’t show fear even if he didn’t have a chance of getting out unscathed.

“I got no chance against the terror of small boys,” he said.  _ I can slow down two of them, but Egg will have to run really fast from the third one _ .

He looked around again, trying to figure out which way to push the kid so he ran there, and suddenly realized that everyone was staring at the three of them.

“What’s going on?”

Blackfyre’s voice, amplified by the microphone, reached Dunk’s brain through the roaring of blood in his ears. The man himself was standing by the edge of the platform and pointed right at Dunk. The policeman who was bored stiff by the speakers, was already pushing towards them.

Rabid opponents of the Targaryens stood back, glancing at them angrily, and Dunk breathed a sigh of relief. Enough, now they were going straight to the Government palace, and that’d be the end of it.

“Who is this tall guy? Bring him here. Hey, you, come over here!”

Daemon was pointing at and talking to him — to Dunk. He shook his head, but the policeman, who looked even more depressed, stood by him and gestured to the platform.

“Just a second,” Dunk muttered, turned to Egg, who paled from all the uproar, and shoved the keys into his hand. “Run to the truck, get inside and wait for me. Don’t talk to anyone, got it?”

Egg nodded miserably, but didn’t argue. It looked like that occasionally Dunk was worth listening to.

Dunk turned to the platform and pushed forward, feeling many stares on the back of his head. Movie stars probably feel the same on the red carpet. Or prisoners, sentenced to death, on their way to the place of execution.

A bearded man with hard face and slightly disgusted expression met him at the bottom of the platform and showed the way up.

It was a strange experience. Dunk wasn’t really flustered, but his knees tried to fold under him, and his hands were shaking. The right elbow stiffed completely in all this excitement.

Up close Daemon looked very young, even though he was supposed to be around thirty — an age when one could aspire for a senator’s seat. Even this close, without any touch-up, he looked more like an actor or a model from a magazine: he was handsome, charming son of his father. Blackfyre Sr. died when he barely turned thirty five, he would have been the youngest president in Westeros.

“You’re so tall,” Daemon smiled, becoming a copy of Blackfyre Sr.’s picture that was printed in every newspaper and magazine after his death. “Do you live here, in Night’s Watch?”

Dunk swallowed a lump in his throat: Daemon was offering him the microphone. Was he supposed to speak into it for everyone to hear?

“I’m not…” His voice boomed over the square, and it was… unnerving. Uncomfortable. “I’m passing through. No, I don’t live here… but I like this town.”

Daemon nodded contentedly as if Dunk said something he was supposed to.

“What’s your name? What do you do for a living?”

“Well, I… My name’s Duncan Tall, and I’m a long-haul driver,” Dunk replied. His voice, strangely alien and high, boomed over the square.

“Splendid,” Daemon said. “It’s an honest, decent job. What’s your dream, Duncan?”

Dunk was lost: the question seemed to be rather personal… It was personal, dammit, and he was supposed to answer in front of a crowd. Excitement went to his head like a shot of gin on an empty stomach, though, and he said in a suddenly husky voice, “I want to become a race driver.”

Giggles, noise, offending comments were coming from the crowd, but Dunk didn’t hear the words, he gathered it by the tone and laughter of those who did hear it.

Daemon raised his hand, though, and the crowd subsided. It was amazing, the way this handsome man in an expensive suit commanded the attention of the crowd, had power over it. Then he turned to Dunk, his eyes were shining, the corners of his lips etched upward.

“What’s your height, Duncan? Tall guys like you won’t fit into a race car, will they?”

_ Here goes, _ Dunk thought wearily. He’s heard so many jokes about it the subject almost stopped bothering him.

“I’m seven feet tall, and I won’t fit into a race car. There are other types of races, I can try my luck there. At least I fit into my truck.”

Daemon’s eyes glinted triumphantly, and before Dunk caught up he said into the microphone, putting his hand on Dunk’s shoulder, “Did you hear? Did you hear that? Despite the circumstances there are always people who can change them, become masters of their fortune. Someone says,  _ It’s impossible _ , and we refuse to believe it. Someone says,  _ You’ll fail _ , but we still try. You think that you can’t change your life, that you should bury your dreams, don’t you? Let’s start doing something. I believe in myself, I believe that I can change everything, I can find a way out if the mess Westeros is now in. And if you believe in me help me. Together we will achieve our greatest dream — to have a happy prosperous Westeros that we’ll create with our own hands!”

The crowd erupted with cheers, but his words sent chills down Dunk’s back.

Night’s Watch was always outside of politics. It didn’t matter who was king, men on the Wall were not serving him, they were protecting the kingdom. A thousand years passed since the battle with the Others, though, a thousand years passed since the Night’s Watch ceased to exist. Now something horrible was happening in front of Dunk, a center of hatred toward the current authorities was being born here.

Meanwhile Daemon kept talking, saying his goodbyes, and Dunk hurried back to the truck where Egg was waiting for him. The bearded man with mean stare blocked his way, though.

“Did Ser Blackfyre allow you to leave?” he asked. “Let’s go.”

Before Dunk had a chance to reply he was swooped to the back of the platform. Blackfire’s men frisked him there among trailers and trucks that accompanied the tour.

“Who sent you? Who’s the boy with you? Where did he go?” the man asked briskly while his assistants, two men slightly shorter than Dunk, patted his pockets. “So,” he said, studying the driver’s license that was taken from Dunk’s pocket. “You are Duncan Tall.”

“I said my name,” Dunk replied furiously. “I said it in front of everyone! Get your hands off me!”

“Clear,” one of the assistants said, straightening. “Here’s the smartphone.”

The man studied the driver’s license again, flipped through the contact list in Dunk’s smartphone, then threw both in his direction.

“Get out of here as soon as possible. If you’ll give an interview to anyone I’ll find you and beat the living daylights out of you.”

Before Dunk could reply that he’d be happy to get out of here a joyous voice behind them said, “Here you are!”

Red-faced Daemon Blackfyre was waving at Dunk.

“Gormy, why are you scaring our guest?”

“Guest?”

Daemon laughed, “Of course, he’s a guest. It’s good to be closer to the people, for example right now I want to have a drink with this dashing long-haul driver. Did you see my presentation? All of them will vote for me! We сan take several pictures with this guy.  _ Blackfyre and a man of the people discuss the future of Westeros _ and all that. Camera loves him, the pictures might turn out to be usable. We’ll only have to touch up the band aid on his cheek,” he added, giving Dunk a critical look. “And we’ll post the pictures on our site with the report on  meeting with constituents in Night’s Watch.”

“I have to go,” Dunk said hastily, but Daemon refused to listen.

“Gormy, bring us a drink, my throat’s sore.”

“I think we need to wait until we arrive back to the hotel,” the bearded man said with displeasure. Dunk, who was never interested in politics, recognized Gorman Peake by some miracle. He’s seen his frowning face in newspapers and TV news several times when journalists tried to attract attention to a half-hearted scandal: it turned out that Aegor Rivers, one of participants of the Crimson Night who escaped to Essos, was financing his election campaign from abroad.

“I won’t. Who has a drink?”

“Daemon, why do you need all this? Why do you need outsiders?” a man with a round face, curly hair and a bitchy expression said, offering him a bottle of cognac. Tumblers were clinking in his other hand.

“He’s not an outsider, Alyn,” Daemon laughed. White mist puffed out of his mouth. “He’s our guest tonight, behave yourselves.”

“I need to go,” Dunk repeated. “The boy I came with is in the truck, he’s probably cold.”

“Invite him over!” Daemon said merrily, pouring cognac into the tumblers. “Is he cute? We can take pictures of both of us, it’ll be even better. Gormon, bring the boy here.”

Dunk’s heart dropped at the idea of Egg and Daemon in one room, but luckily both Gorman and Alyn were trying to convince Daemon to drop it and let Dunk go.

He still got a tumbler of cognac thrust into his hands and was forced drink it. Some pictures were taken. In the end Daemon hugged him tightly and wished him luck in achieving his dream, smiling widely.

Under close scrutiny Dunk managed to force out only “Thanks, have a nice evening…”

“Give him my card,” Daemon ordered, turning away, but Dunk received only a noticeable push from the curly guy whom Daemon called Alyn. He was eager to leave, though.

Cognac was burning his stomach, his elbow hurt, his ears were burning too. It looked like the Blackfyre election campaign team was cursing him heartily.


	12. Chapter 12

When Dunk reached the alley where he left the truck he first thought that he entered the wrong alley: all the space from wall to wall was full of people. They surrounded his truck, beat it with his feet and fists and cursed.

“Get out here, bastard!”

“Drag the Targ out!”

It turned out that one could sober up after cognac on an empty stomach in a flash. Dunk pushed people aside on his way to the truck and kicked aside one man who climbed the footstep of the truck with a brick in his hand. The man apparently was about to break the window.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. “This is my truck!”

“No shit.”

Dunk turned and recognized the man who promised to spit in the face of any Targaryen.

“What a small Targ is doing in your truck?”

“What Targ?” Dunk snapped. He was terrified out of his wits. Did Egg stupidly said who he was? Was he hoping that his name would scare away thugs who shouted  _ Away with the Targs _ and  _ Revenge for the Crimson Night _ not so long ago?

“This one,” the man was holding torn and dirty jacket of Egg’s in one hand and a credit card with the name  _ Daeron Targaryen _ in the other. “The boy doesn’t look like Daeron, of course, so I think it’s Aegon. It doesn’t make any difference, though.”

Dunk glanced into the cabin, didn’t see Egg and panicked. The boy managed to escape, but where was he now? Maybe he’s dying as a result of a beating, maybe these bastards knifed him. And he can’t even call anyone because he sold his smartphone to buy these damned earrings.

He felt rage — but not the usual hot one. It was cold rage, frigid like the air here, his head was crystal clear.

“I’ll get him out now,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t quivering. “He’ll open the door to me, and then we’ll talk calmly, right? Don’t muddle with the truck. It’s state-owned, and I have valuable cargo.”

The man smirked.

“Whatever you say, we won’t touch it.”

He stepped away.

A space cleared in front of the truck, Dunk climbed on the footstep and looked inside. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Egg huddled between two seats. He didn’t look battered, maybe he just left his jacket in the hands of his pursuers, managed to escape and successfully locked himself in the truck.

He saw Dunk, his eyes widened. Dunk waved a hand to indicate that he should open the door. Egg shook his head. Dunk mouthed  _ It’s going to be fine _ .

Egg bit his lip, looked at him with desperate hope and finally reached for the door.

As soon as the door opened Dunk threw him his own smartphone.

“Do you remember how to start the truck?” he asked quickly. “Drive as soon as the door shuts. Don’t worry about running over anyone, just drive back till you reach the normal road, the police will notice you. And call your people, got it?”

“I won’t leave you…” Egg stammered.

“Go,” Dunk hissed, picking up the tyre elver from under the seat. “The sooner you’ll call the police the better I’d be.”

He straightened and shut the door. Then he jumped off the footstep, turned abruptly and hit someone on the head. The pain in the arm was distant, like it belonged to someone else.

He waved the tyre lever, and a free space formed in front of him.

An engine roared behind his back, the crowd — twenty men at least — grumbled. Dunk barely had time to press into a wall when his truck skirted past him, the rest were just running away, but when the alley became empty they turned to Dunk. A part of the crowd ran after the truck, eight people stood opposite Dunk. One of them was that Targaryen hater.

“So this is how it’s going to be? You’re ready to die for the damned Targaryens, aren’t you?” he asked, weighting a brick in his hand.

“I am,” Dunk replied. It was a signal to his opponents.

This fight probably could not be turned into a pretty scene for a movie about that hedge knight, for example. Dunk just hugged the wall and waved the tyre lever around, hitting mostly hands — and once a head.

Right now, though, they caught his right wrist and twisted so hard he cried out. A brick collided with his head, then something sharp ended up in his side while he was sliding down the wall. Dunk hit the snow, his opponents were trampling him, but he was thinking only about Egg. Was he safe? If not he, Dunk, would better die right now.

Suddenly his tormentors retracted, loud voices, police sirens and Egg’s voice drifted in.

“There! There he is! He’s bleeding, see, cousin? Help him!”

“So here’s the man we’ve been chasing,” an adult hoarse voice replied suddenly very close. Dunk managed to crack open one eye and saw an ill-looking and familiar face: blackness instead of one eye and ugly red patch on the cheek.

“Here’s your kidnapper, Aegon,” he said.

Dunk drifted into unconsciousness with relief.


	13. Chapter 13

The ceiling was grey and covered with cracks and patches of moisture. If Dunk could choose he’d have stayed in the prison hospital. His hand was righted, though, his head and side were stitched. Now he acquired a long scar on the middle of his tummy. As the doctor kindly explained a penetrating injury of the abdominal cavity meant that the belly should be opened to see if everything was fine.

Staring at grey ceiling, Dunk mused that a scar on the belly wasn’t the worst that could happen to him.

Daeron Targaryen — the man he barely remembered because he was sleeping face first on the table — announced that his brother was abducted during their travels. After some complicated thinking the police concluded that Dunk kidnapped the child and arranged for the attack at the Night’s Watch. He didn’t understand the essence of these accusations and its logic, but his pictures with Daemon Blackfyre proved their point somewhat.

Now he could say good-bye to his dreams of becoming a racer and any kind of normal life in general. The Targaryens will probably send him to jail for years. No one will profit from the knowledge that one of senator’s sons got so drunk that he allowed his younger brother to get into a car with a stranger. So, several rounds of beer wrecked Dunk’s life, Egg probably won’t be able to do anything, he’ll forced into silence. 

Still, remembering his happy face when he learned to drive the truck Dunk smiled against his will. The boy’ll have pleasant memories of this trip. He’ll remember a young haul-truck driver who gave him a lift to the Wall and with whom he experienced a real adventure.

And Dunk himself will remember that too. Now he had no regrets about the money he gave to Ser Eustace: it’d do him no good in jail.

Consumed by such thoughts, he didn’t realize right away that someone’s approached his cell and the sound he heard was the door unlocking.

“Get up, let’s go,” a policeman said, but there was something new in his usually gruff voice. Like he was afraid of something. “You have… a visitor.”

He was led not to the visitation room, that is, not to the room that was usually depicted in movies with a glass partition between a prisoner and a visitor, but to a white-walled office. There was only a table and two chairs there.

Dunk was ordered to sit on one of them, the handcuffs were taken off. While he was massaging his wrists, the visitor finally entered the room. At first Dunk decided that he was hallucinating. This was the face he saw before he collapsed. The empty eye socket, the red patch.

Brynden Rivers himself was visiting him, an ordinary long-haul driver.

Rivers sat down on the chair opposite, waved his hand carelessly at the policeman who brought Dunk in. When the door closed Rivers said, “What do I do with you now, Duncan Tall?”

Dunk blinked. Brynden Rivers stared at him with his only eye, tilting his head to one side like a bird.

Brynden Rivers could have gotten rid of the ugly patch and used an artificial eye, considering all the money he had, but he preferred to live as was. He had lovers, exceptionally beautiful women, the deformity didn’t preclude him from living a life that was better than anything Dunk could have hoped for.

“I think,” he began carefully, “that if I were in your shoes I’d let me go.”

Brynden smiled dryly. The corners of his mouth went up, showing narrow yellowish teeth.

“You were an excellent addition to my picture,” he said. “Blackfyre’s man who tried to harm Maekar Targaryen’s son, but at the last moment the brave boy managed to escape.”

“You don’t care about the truth, do you?” Dunk asked wearily.

River’s long yellowish fingers tapped on the tabletop like spider legs.

“What is the truth?” Rivers asked. “That you picked up Aegon Targaryen on the road, no questions asked, and delivered him to the Night’s Watch exactly on the evening when that boy Blackfyre was making his speech? Is that not the truth?”

Dunk decided that it was better to keep his mouth shut. Rivers was silent too, though, and kept tapping.

“Everything went according to plan as it should have until your new friend interfered with it a little,” Rivers said after a minute of silence.

“My friend?”

“Aegon. Tell me, Duncan Tall, who are you?”

Dunk was at a loss. Strangely enough, he wasn’t afraid of Brynden Rivers — the man who covered a whole country with a network of spies, the man who was the shadow ruler of Westeros. The question baffled him, though.

“I… I’m just a long-haul driver,” he repeated for the umptieth time in the last three days. “I deliver goods throughout Westeros.”

“And save little princes and impoverished old lords in distress while you’re at it,” Rivers smirked. “You’re a knight who won a tourney and gave the winnings to the first poor man in need that you encountered. You’re just a long-haul driver who prefered to sacrifice a state-owned truck and valuable cargo — and even your life — to save a boy from a mob. Now, Duncan Tall, tell me some more about just long-haul drivers. Apparently, my intelligence on them is grossly outdated.”

“You can doubt my words or Egg’s…”

“Why, I believe you. A noble idiot like you can’t lie. My men have been following you since the Twins. Little Egg withdrew money from his brother’s credit card, and he received the notification.”

Dunk paused to think, he wasn’t very good at it, but now the whole picture suddenly formed in his head.

“You knew that we were going to the Wall, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t stop us?”

“It was easy to connect a license number to a company and a haul of the truck. And I kept my fingers crossed. I’m usually very lucky.”

Dunk remembered plenty of whispers that Brynden Rivers killed Daemon Blackfyre Sr.

“It wasn’t luck,” he said.

Rivers smiled dryly again.

“Call it whatever you want, but here are the facts: by some twist of fate you’re going to the Wall and early in the morning end up in a café where drunk Daeron is sleeping, and his younger brother wants to run away. He meets a kind young long-haul driver who agrees to give a lift to the Wall to a child he just met and doesn’t drop him off at the nearest police station. On the way they experience nonscheduled delays.” He bared his teeth is a smile. Dunk wondered exactly how ‘nonscheduled’ these ‘delays’ were. “Upon their arrival the most curious things happen, Duncan Tall. Daemon Blackfyre’s supporters, stirred by words of revenge for the Crimson Night, attack the youngest son of Senator Targaryen. Only the child’s bravery… and that of his accidental champion save him from harm.”

He tilted his head to the other shoulder, his intact eye flashed red.

“So a train of coincidences led to the fact the promising career of Daemon Blackfyre was dead and buried.”

Dunk remembered adoring roar of the crowd, Daemon’s happy smile and the phrase  _ Someone says,  _ You’ll fail _ , but we still try. _

Daemon Blackfyre didn’t stand a chance from the start.

“Do you see the whole picture, Duncan Tall?” Brynden Rivers asked. Red spot on his cheek resembled an ugly bird, spreading its wings awkwardly.

“Yes,” Dunk replied. “I do.”

***

The sun was rising when he left the building. And still, a very familiar yellow sports car was waiting for him.

In utter disbelief he approached it, the door swung open. He lingered, but dove into warm darkness.

“You have no idea how surprised I was when I saw your face on the front page of the newspaper the next day after we parted ways. I promised you limelight, but I didn’t expect it to find you so soon.”

Rohanne Webber smiled at him from behind the wheel. He didn’t recognize her right away in this freckled girl dressed in jeans and hair pulled up in a ponytail.

“If I jinxed you then I’m sorry. I hope this will redeem me.”

She took out a smartphone, dialed a number and held out her hand with a sly smile like a naughty child.

He took the phone carefully — there were too many surprises lately — held it to his ear and suddenly heard a familiar voice.

“Is that you, Ser Duncan? Are you already out, ser?”

“Egg!” he almost laughed in relief. “That is Aegon…”

“You can call me Egg, ser, even though I have some hair on my head now.”

“How are you? Did those people in the Night’s Watch do something to you? Did they hurt you?”

“How can you ask that? It’s you who’ve been hurt! And I… Five of them followed me, I unbuttoned my jacket so I could take it off in case they grabbed me. What a waste, it was a pretty jacket. I was more scared for you, though, there was so much blood...”

“I’m big that’s why there was so much blood,” Dunk replied, covering his eyes with his hand. He wanted to shout at him in relief. Egg was fine, what a mercy.

“It doesn’t matter! When I learned that you were accused I wanted to kill Daeron. But it’s alright, when everyone learned about our trip and that you saved me the police was forced to drop charges.”

What do you mean ‘everyone learned’?” Dunk asked cautiously.

“I wrote everything down, about our trip to the Wall,” Egg replied nonchalantly. “I’ve spent two days working on it, it was pretty with all the pictures. There was so much buzz on the net! I have so many subscribers now, all the newspapers wrote about our trip!”

“Pictures? But you sold your phone… Did you get it back?”

Egg snorted loudly.

“I downloaded the pictures straight to a virtual disc. Come on! When I sold the phone I deleted all the information from it, I’m a senator’s son, after all, I have stuff there.”

“What exactly did you write?

“Everything we’ve been through… I mean, without much detail, of course, but I mentioned the competition, the hotel we’ve saved, the road to the Wall… Ser?”

Dunk imagined what sort of a life I’d have now, the way journalists’d hunt him. Amazingly enough they weren’t waiting for him at the gates, It was probably Brynden Rivers’s doing.

“Ser?”

“Yes, Egg, I’m still here.”

Egg faltered on the other end of the line, then said brightly, “Listen, why don’t work for us? You’ll be a driver, the pay is good. You’ll save up for your own truck real fast.”

“And what will I do? Drive your brother to parties?”

“Well, that too….” Egg replied disconsolately. “On the other hand there’ll be no bandits on the road, and the pay is good,” he reminded him sheepishly.

Dunk looked out of the window. The sun was rising over the Wall, it was almost burning, sparkling with all shades of red.

“Sorry, Egg,” he said. “I like my current job. But if you’ll ever want to become a long-haul driver I’ll take you as my partner.”

Egg giggled and said in his usual cheerful voice, “I’ll think about it. Hey, listen, the second round of those competitions that you like will start soon. I want to go there now, and I’ll have a spare ticket. I still owe you for the ride, remember?”

“I think a ticket will do as a payment,” Dunk replied earnestly.

“Great! And… call me if anything, ok? Just call me, Dad will help. He’s very ashamed now that he put you in a prison.”

“I’d be glad to hear from you,” Dunk replied.

He returned the phone to still smiling Rohanne.

“He wrote a post about me,” he said confused.

In response she showed him the screen of his own smartphone with a picture of him behind the wheel. He had no idea when Egg made it because he forbade Egg to take pictures of him. He looked good in it: earnest and focussed.

“That was one hell of a post,” Rohanne said. “You are full of surprises, Duncan. Will you accompany a lady for a drink of tea? I’d like to hear about your adventures firsthand.”

_ Do you see the whole picture, Duncan Tall? _

“I’m afraid I’ve been hit on the head too many times, and I don’t remember any details,” Dunk smiled in reply. Rohanne grimaced.

“Alright. I still owe you so you just sit here and eat with me. Then you’d better pick up your truck and leave before paparazzi start hunting you.”

She stepped on the accelerator, and the car pulled away smoothly.

Dunk felt uneasy for some reason. Something was wrong, something was off.

Suddenly he realized he wasn’t behind the wheel in a car for the first time in a long while. It was an unusual feeling, he could simply sit there and enjoy the views of early morning Night’s Watch, a town where young Blackfyre’s career ended in disgrace.

He arrived here with Egg, now Dunk is a passenger and sees the world differently.

It was strange, when he started this haul he had more money, more opportunities, life seemed to be simple and straightforward. Now he lost all his savings, he had a criminal record and several new scars, but it seemed that he gained more than he lost.

Ser Arlan’d have said that he gained a few brain cells. It was something different, though. This trip changed him, even though he didn’t know yet what changed. Maybe, it made him see the world around when all he could think about was his dream. Maybe he understood something about the world and himself that could be more important than the greatest dream. He realized that there were things worth living and fighting for.

The café where Rohanne drove him too was empty, and it reminded Dunk of that morning when he met Egg. And what do you know, the same movie about that knight was broadcast on TV.

Dunk looked closer and realized it was a different movie with the same main character.

Rohanne turned her head lazily, following his gaze.

“Ah, that movie,” she said in a bored voice. “If a waitress deigns to come over order whatever you like, my treat. Remember, I owe you.”

“What’s the name of this movie?” Dunk asked, still staring at the TV. The hedge knight, his old friend, was in dire straits: a bandit was attacking him with a knife. The knight had to catch it with his left hand instead of his shield. Later he somehow managed to throw the bandit into a conveniently placed well and ran off to save someone despite his injury. Dunk didn’t know the plot, but where else can a noble knight run to if not to save the unfortunate people from trouble?

“I don’t remember. Something about kings, princes and heroes,” Rohanne shrugged. “There are three parts, the fourth part’s been in production for several years now. It’s a fairy-tale about good old times. Haven’t you seen it before?”

She accidentally on purpose touched his arm.

“I have an unexpected day off today, we can sit here till it ends.”

Dunk stared at the screen. It seemed he was seeing himself with his dreams, fantasies and unbelievable adventures. Maybe the knight’s story didn’t have a very happy ending, but something must happen before the end of the movie. By the conventions of the genre something good will happen, the main character will fulfill his wish — this is a fairy tale, after all.

Then the closing credits will roll against the backdrop of the knight, riding off into the sunset.

He’s riding off to find new adventures.


End file.
